


wanna be your left hand man

by miss_bennie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, American AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:40:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1195437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_bennie/pseuds/miss_bennie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“As a starving artist writer type,” Louis sniffs, hooking his chin over Zayn’s shoulder, “you should be eating this shit up.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Or, the American College AU where Introvert Artist Zayn meets Scene Musician Niall, and things occur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wanna be your left hand man

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Riptide" by Vance Joy.
> 
> So sometimes Niall posts a selfie with scene hair, and then [irishmizzy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/irishmizzy/pseuds/irishmizzy) is a spectacularly bad influence after listening to me yell that he looks like "a scene kid I'd make out with after a DIY show in a church basement". This wouldn't be anything without her and [cashewdani](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cashewdani/pseuds/cashewdani).

“You’re fucking coming.”

“Can I just,” Zayn sighs into the phone, loud enough that he knows Louis can hear on the other end, even though he knows Louis won’t give any fucks. “I was thinking about staying in, I’m behind on my reading and-”

“It is a fucking Friday night, you and Perrie broke up eight months ago, and it’s starting to get really embarrassing that my best friend is this weird shut-in.” The way Louis’s talking, Zayn can picture him laid out in front of Madden or whatever, legs spread out and head tipped back so his phone’ll pick up his voice. Even though Zayn has told him multiple times that the earphone has a mic for a reason. 

“I’ll think about it.” Zayn finally says, picking at the rip in his jeans, right above the knee. It’s not that he doesn’t want to go out, it’s just that sometimes he really doesn’t want to go out. Not because of a breakup that Zayn was actually over a long time ago, but has been using it to coast so he won’t have to go out as much, something that makes his stomach twist with something like embarrassment. He’d never tell Louis that. Ever. 

“This always happens,” Louis pauses, cursing under his breath, and Zayn can tell from his tone that it’s not Madden, it must be Grand Theft, “you make it really fucking difficult, and then when you finally go out you have a good time.”

“I’ll text you, yeah?” Zayn wiggles his fingertip enough that it fits in the hole now, scratching against the skin of his knee. “What time does this thing start?”

“8, but I’m coming to pick you up at 7.” Louis sighs, and then there’s a rustling sound, his voice coming across louder. “Harry said that the place might get crowded. El’s gonna meet us there.”

“I will text you _if_ you need to come pick me up.” Zayn says again, but Lou’s already hung up. Zayn looks at his low battery and flips over on his stomach, dropping his hand down in the narrow space between his bed and the wall, searching until he finds the cord. Plugging it in, he rolls back and stares at the pile of books on his nightstand. He really does have some reading to do. Though he knows that if he stays in, no actual reading will happen. 

Swinging his legs down, Zayn wanders out of his room and down the short staircase to the sitting room, where Liam’s laid out, frowning at his computer.

“Zayn,” Liam grunts, running his hand through his hair, “I think I’m gonna fail.”

“I think it’s impossible to fail math for dummies,” Zayn ducks into the kitchen, snagging a bottle of water from the fridge before flopping down on the camp chair they’ve got in the corner. “Ow, fuck.”

“How do you always forget about the broken arm,” Liam mutters, his face dark, “and it’s not math for dummies, it’s…”

“It’s basically math for dummies, Payno, you were the one who started calling it that.” Zayn rubs at his arm where the metal dug in, moving his elbow until he can settle in comfortably.

“It’s different when I call it that, and when you call it that,” Liam grins though, slamming his laptop closed hard enough that Zayn’s sure he’s gonna be crying about how his screen is messed up later, “wanna come out tonight?”

“Where,” Zayn starts, slowly, weighing his options. Liam rarely wants to do anything remotely in the realm of something Zayn likes, especially because it takes Liam forever to read comics so they only go to the shop like once a month, tops. 

“I need to get to the gym,” Liam wraps a hand around his arm, flexing and testing it out. Zayn would call him a douchebag if he didn’t know any better. “Thought maybe we could spar? Dig out your gloves?”

“Uh,” Zayn thinks about it, working out on a Saturday night with Liam, or going to this show at some abandoned bakery next to a record shop. Or it’s in the back room of a record shop, Louis was kind of vague about the details. 

“I’ll be gentle,” Liam promises, his eyes wide, trying to wink unsuccessfully. He laughs then, like he made a really hilarious joke, and it makes Zayn’s mind up.

“Got plans Li, sorry,” Zayn shrugs, fiddling with the top of the water bottle, “Lou’s coming, wants me to go to some show with him.”

“Oh.” Liam’s mouth is already sliding into a pout, but then he reaches for his laptop again, hooking his thumb under the edge to open it. “It’s fine, I’ll get a better workout if I meet up with Andy there anyway.”

“Yeah, fuck you too,” Zayn laughs, leaning forward to look at Liam’s screen, “okay, show me the thing, I’ll see if I can help.”

**

“How many bands are gonna be playing?” Zayn passes the bowl back to Louis, propping his feet up on the case of water Louis keeps in the back for when they’ve got class and a disgusting case of dry mouth.

“Fuck if I know,” Louis takes a big hit, Zayn can see his chest expand with it, counts to ten before Louis is exhaling, full in Zayn’s face, laughing when Zayn starts sputtering. “What’s with the twenty questions?”

“Dunno,” Zayn lets his hand drift slow over the carpet in the back of the van Louis bought last year from some guy in a parking lot, Zayn’s still not even sure if Louis’s like, legally owns it. “Just doesn’t seem like your scene.”

“Seems like exactly yours though,” Louis looks down cross-eyed at the bowl, tapping out the contents in the ashtray he keeps duct taped to the back of the seat. “I don’t know, Harry won’t stop annoying me about coming to one of these, figured if I drug you along at least one of us would like it.”

“Harry Harry Harry,” Zayn intones, pinching at Louis’s ankle when Louis stretches out his legs in his lap. “It’s all Harry lately, should I be warning El?”

“Fuck off,” Louis makes a face before grinning, “he’s like a Koala bear, right? Do one group project together where he and I had to do the majority of the work and he’s like, level 5 clinger now.”

“Whatever, you love the attention,” Zayn snorts, because Louis’s opening his mouth like he’s about to protest, then shakes his head.

“It’s not that I love the attention, dumbass, it’s that I deserve it.” Louis starts laughing, “Shit, I wish we had more.”

“I think we’re good.” Zayn takes a deep breath, testing out his high. It’s just enough to make the night work, make it so he doesn’t feel like he’s crawling out of his own skin. “At least I am, I’m not doing it all day every day.”

“Hey,” Louis swats at Zayn’s hair, “don’t be such a fuckface. Anyway, Harry wanted me to bring you along anyway, because apparently I told him once you were a _sensitive artist_ , and that really fits in with this whole scene.”

“I’m not sensitive.” Zayn protests, feeling slightly pleased whenever someone calls him an artist or a writer or whatever the fuck. 

“You fucking sobbed your face off at Homeward Bound, but you’re right,” Louis’s voice is lazy, “people who aren’t sensitive do shit like that all the time.”

“I think I was drunk?” Zayn says, trailing off into a question, even though he knows he’s lost this one.

“At eleven am?” Louis starts, stopping when Zayn gives him a look, raising his eyebrows, “okay, fair enough, but that was a sober 11, I’m 90% on this.”

“Whatever, fuck you, you’re the sociopath for not crying at that movie,” Zayn mumbles, pulling out his phone and squinting at the screen, “it’s almost 8, shouldn’t we be inside by now?”

“Oh fuck,” Louis sits up, so fast that his foot slams down into Zayn’s shin, Zayn wincing and shoving at his shoulder when Louis climbs over him, huffing as he pulls at the door. The cool fall night air fills the stale backseat then, and when Zayn cranes his neck around he can see El leaning against the car they parked next to, a look on her face that makes Zayn feel bad for Louis, just a little bit.

“Boys,” El’s words are clipped, “you finished?”

“You could have knocked, El,” Zayn says, trying to salvage the situation. 

“I _did_.” Eleanor cocks her head to the side, “you didn’t hear? Because I heard a lot of giggling.”

“Okay,” Louis holds up his hands, wrapping himself around El like a snake, “we were not giggling, and are you more mad that we lost track of time, or that you missed out on the weed?”

“Oh my _god_ ,” El pushes at Louis, rolling her eyes at Zayn, but she’s starting to smile, so Zayn relaxes. He never minds third wheeling Louis and El, is used to it now after the past few years, but when they’re sniping at each other it’s never a picnic. 

“So,” Zayn pushes past the two of them, interrupting before they can start making out against the side of the van, “which...where are we going? This looks like a shithole.”

“As a starving artist writer type,” Louis sniffs, hooking his chin over Zayn’s shoulder, “you should be eating this shit up.”

“I’m just saying,” Zayn surveys the moderately full parking lot of the strip, flickering neon lights in the record place and the darkness of the surrounding stores bracketing it in, their signs so faded Zayn can’t make out the words. _Moonlight Records_ is what is says, every couple of seconds before fading back out. 

“Harry said to go in the bakery, there,” Louis points to the door right next to Moonlight, and as they get closer Zayn can see that there’s a faint light peeking out from under the pieces of black posterboard blocking out the windows. 

“How do you even know that’s a bakery,” Zayn asks, and Louis claps him on the back of the head, hard.

“Read the sign, dumbfuck,” and sure enough, when Zayn looks closer he can see the piece of cake faded on the sign, the letters _kery_ next to it. 

“Maybe I need new contacts,” Zayn mutters, elbowing Louis and shooting an apologetic look at El, who smiles at him.

“It’s fine,” she says, at the same time Louis says something decidedly less nice, shoving past them both to open the door, light slanting out onto the broken concrete of the sidewalk. Zayn doesn’t hear any music, but he dutifully follows Lou and El inside, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket and bracing himself.

**

Zayn was right, it is a shithole. But in a way where Zayn almost feels strangely comfortable. It’s a pretty big crowd, at least, it seems that way in how they’re spread out in the surprisingly big, open space, the old linoleum floor dirty and chipped beneath his feet as Zayn tries to take everything in. Louis and El had disappeared soon after they got in, either to find Harry or El’s other friends who were supposed to be here, Zayn’s not sure. It doesn’t matter. 

The great thing about Louis is that he’ll force Zayn to come along to these ridiculous places, but then once they’re wherever he’ll pretty much leave Zayn alone, let him figure his own way out. Zayn had tried to tell him that once while they were half drunk at some party, tried to explain how he appreciated it, but Louis had just said, slurring his words, “yes Zayn, I WILL marry you,” so Zayn knows he gets it, but he also knows he’s never bringing it up again. 

There’s a few girls with brightly colored hair eyeing him from where they’re sitting at the repurposed bakery counter turned merch table, smiling over at him. It’s both flattering and uncomfortable, and he’s starting to get a headache from the like, really spectacularly shitty band that’s playing right now, the second one in a row that made Zayn wish he could go spontaneously deaf. 

“THANK YOU,” the singer is yelling then, too loud in the shitty makeshift sound system, Zayn groaning and moving from his spot near the speaker, “WE HAVE BEEN ABSENCE OF A SILVER LINING.”

“Sounds about right,” Zayn mumbles to himself as he finds a different spot, nearer the far side of the stage, or, as he sees it is now, a big sheet of plywood laid out on the floor. He nudges past a circle of people, recognizing a couple of them from a few of his classes, figuring Louis was right about this being his scene, since it’s not the first ones that have looked familiar to him.

He slumps down against the wall, settling in with his back flush against it and bending his knees so he can use them as a makeshift writing surface, pulling his battered moleskine out of his pocket, fishing around for his favorite pen. Once he finds it he flips through, finding a blank page so he can occupy himself, starting by doodling around the edges. It’s nothing big, just some distorted music notes. He frowns as he tries to make them flicker across the page, shading them carefully when the next group starts.

It’s a group of girls, the lead singer a girl he remembers from his Pound’s Cantos seminar a couple of semesters ago, someone who he’s pretty sure was friendly with Perrie. Jade, maybe? He fits himself tighter around the wall, hoping she won’t see him. Either way, they’re decent enough that Zayn stays put, slowly filling in the rest of the page with some clouds, an eye crying where the tears turn to smoke, an angry face as he lets the lyrics of what Jade’s singing filter through his thoughts. 

“Alright,” she’s saying then, after a song that Zayn clocked at about 8 minutes, at least, because he’s not even sure it was a different one or if they just had to take a break in between verses, “one more after us, guys, the ones you’ve been waiting for. Just so you know, we’ll be in the back, selling our EP we just pressed.”

“It’s called ‘Cisgendered Masculinity’,” the bass player, Zayn didn’t catch her name, interjects.

“Yeah, so please come on back if you’re interested in discourse and opinionated women.” Jade laughs, Zayn filling in the last white spot on the page with a heavy black dot. He looks up then when it gets quiet again, the girls packing up their stuff and the muffled sounds of the crowd talking filling the air above his head. He knows that there’s only one more, but he sort of wants to duck out, feels like he’s stayed long enough, even if he technically didn’t talk to anyone. But he was around people at least. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket then, and when he fishes it out of his pocket he sees the text from Louis _Harry’s next so don’t even think about it, I know where u live_

So there that fucking idea goes. He considers leaving anyway, just walking the mile back to his apartment, figures Lou won’t be mad at him for that long, that he can probably buy him a case of cheap beer and he’ll forget it, but then the lights are turning off, and when Zayn looks, everyone’s crowded up near the stage, leaving this huge empty space behind, the crowd curving around the plywood on the floor. 

Zayn stands then, just so he can see who’s up. One is Harry, he knows, from Louis’s Facebook, looking like he stuck his finger in a socket, curly hair standing on end like he’s Mozart or something. Zayn counts three separate plaid shirts that he’s wearing in layers, on top of a ripped up white shirt. He’s standing behind a keyboard, his long fingers rubbing at the keys as he takes the microphone from one of the girls who were staring at Zayn earlier.

“Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii,” he says into the mic, fucking waving at the crowd, and Zayn smiles in spite of himself. “We are here now to play some music for you guys, if you’d like.” The whole crowd starts laughing, this collectively pleased sound that throws Zayn off of his axis for a moment, soaking it in. Louis had never said that Harry’s band was like, the headliner of this shitshow. 

“Yeah, thanks for comin’.” The guy standing next to Harry adjusts the mic in the stand in front of him, strumming quick at his guitar before speaking again. “I’m Niall, and this is Harry.” He pushes his bangs out of his forehead, over the rim of his black frames. 

“WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE, FUCKTARD,” someone yells from the crowd, and Zayn is relieved that it’s not Louis’s voice, Harry and Niall both laughing. 

“And we are The Banana Splits, this first song is,” Harry starts, but then Niall snorts loudly into his mic, feedback ringing in Zayn’s ears as he winces away from the speaker. “Niall, do you have something to share?” 

“Yeah, our actual band name, is what I would like to share,” Niall leans in close to his mic, “we’re Patrick’s Snakes.”

“That is a name we were for a brief moment,” Harry interjects, starting to play chopsticks as he speaks, “and now, we are revealing our new name. The Banana Splits.”

“Harry, what the fuck did I tell you,” Niall’s got his head turned now, Zayn feeling the muscles of his mouth move into a smile at what is clearly an argument these two have had more than once. “We’re Patrick’s Snakes, and don’t pull this shit on stage.”

“When we decided to be a band forever,” Harry whispers, and Zayn wonders if he knows how microphones actually work, “we were eating banana splits, Niall. This is meaningful.”

“It’s fucking stupid,” Niall hisses, his hand coming up to cover Harry’s mic, leaning back to his own, “just a quick one, folks, and we’ll be right back with ya.” 

The two of them turn and Zayn shuffles a little closer from where he is against the wall in spite of himself, clearly hearing Niall call Harry a cunt more than once, before dropping his voice low enough that Zayn can’t hear, and when Zayn turns his head, he’s rubbing at Harry’s back, head tipped to Harry’s ear. He feels bad then, like he’s eavesdropping on something he shouldn’t, and looks toward the door again, stepping over the cord to an amp and figuring out the best way to make his exit when Harry’s clearing his throat behind him. 

“Sorry for that, everyone,” he says, grinning sheepishly when Zayn turns, “we are To Be Determined, and our first song is called Just Can’t Let It Go.”

“Harry, I thought we were starting with,” Niall starts, but then Harry’s started playing out a melody on the keyboard, so he shakes his head, and when he starts playing along, it makes Zayn straighten up, surprised at how decent it sounds. Like actually legit great. 

Harry starts singing, Niall joining in, and Zayn slips his Moleskine back into his pocket, stepping closer to the stage. Their voices really blend together, is all, and it’s the first time all night Zayn is glad he came. 

**

“Zayn,” Harry is saying, leaning across the table, his hands knocking empty glasses together with a heavy clink, “you really liked it, though?” He’s got his fingers wrapped around Zayn’s wrist now, and Zayn looks over at Louis helplessly, Louis taking a long drink of his beer while grinning hard. 

“Uh,” Zayn tugs at his arm, but Harry doesn’t release it, “yeah, like I said? You guys seem to have a lot of fans.”

“Yeah, but.” Harry frowns, his eyes wide, “Louis said that you have the best music taste of anyone he knows, so I wanted to get your real opinion.”

“Louis said that, did he?” Zayn feels delighted suddenly, and when he looks over at Louis he’s shooting daggers at Harry, El looking how Zayn feels, laughing into her drink. 

“He did, he said you make him mixes and they’re always just spot on, and-” Harry stops, flinching and looking over at Louis. “What was that for?”

“Oops.” Louis shrugs, “oh look, it’s more drinks! Niall, bless you.”

“It’s just PBR,” Niall gives him a weird look, he and the other two guys that came along handing him glasses. “I’m pretty sure no one should bless that.”

“Don’t insult my religion, Horan,” Louis says, and Zayn pushes over so everyone can fit in the narrow booth in the back. They ended up at Simon and Son, this piece of shit dive bar down the street from Moonlight. It’s popular enough, moreso for the fact they don’t card and less because they have a reputation for never cleaning their bathrooms. Zayn hasn’t been since he turned 21 last year, but was glad enough to come now, after Harry and Niall finished their set with minimal bickering and a few more songs that left Zayn wanting more, all the random genre shifting they were doing, trading off vocals like they’d been playing together for a long time. 

Which, maybe they have, Zayn didn’t get much on the stumbling walk here, Harry asking him a million questions while Louis and El laughed and Niall apologized, Willie and Josh hanging behind a few steps, bringing up the rear. Zayn can’t remember the last time he talked so much about himself, about his major and how many sisters he has and how long he’s lived with Liam and where he got his jacket, did his jeans come with that hole in the knee or did Zayn do it himself, Harry really likes how it looks. He feels a bit exhausted over it now, content to sit back while the others start all talking over each other, going in on Niall for his glasses (turns out they’re clear lenses), and Harry for being Harry, and Louis for his mullet (“yeah, it is a mullet, honey” El finally said over his protests, carding her fingers through the hair on his neck). Getting more and more drinks, filling up the table.

Zayn’s glad he can just sit and take it all in, laughing at everything, when Niall turns to him from where he’s sat next to him, blue eyes wide behind the ineffectual lenses of his glasses.

“So,” he says, and Zayn lets his eyes drift down to what he’s sure is a thrift store grandpa sweater Niall’s got on, “what were you drawing earlier?”

“What?” Zayn focuses on a little hole near the collar of it, likes how it disrupts the pattern in a really cool way.

“Saw you,” Niall snaps his fingers in front of Zayn’s face, and Zayn looks up, meeting Niall’s easy grin with a smile of his own, feeling flustered. “At the show?”

“You saw me?” Zayn feels dumb, like he’s on a tape delay, had gotten used to just sitting back. Niall’s looking at him with this open expression, though, not like he thinks Zayn is weird or mysterious, which is refreshing.

“Yeah, during the girls’ set,” Niall keeps his voice low while everyone else is yelling around them, “at first I thought it was brave of you to sit on the floor like that, since it’s pretty fucking disgusting.”

“I can take it,” Zayn curls his fingers around his glass, taking a drink to have something to do. “I’ll just make sure to wash these jeans.”

Niall laughs. “Anyway,” he continues, “I was actually standing near you? I wasn’t being creepy, I just thought you were like, writing at first, but then I noticed it was drawing.”

“I didn’t, when you were playing,” Zayn says, feeling like maybe he shouldn’t have been ignoring what was happening on stage to do his own shit. 

“Oh,” Niall’s eyes get really wide, and he pushes his bangs to the side. Zayn wonders if it’s a nervous habit thing. “No, I didn’t mean. Let me start again. I thought it was fucking cool, to do your own artistic thing like that at a whole….artistic show?”

“Art within art within art,” Zayn smiles, and Niall starts laughing, nodding and touching his index finger to his nose, you got it. Zayn takes another drink. He feels warm. 

“Can I see? What you did? If not,” Niall shrugs, “but it was kind of driving me crazy, that one song was so long and I was like, trying to guess, _what is this dude drawing right now_?”

“Um, sure,” Zayn’s doesn’t know why, it might be all the beer, but he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the moleskine, smoothing it where he had it rolled to fit. He finds the page and hands it to Niall, pushing it across the table with this fingertips. “I uh, don’t care if you look at the rest, not really,” he says, “but that’s what I did tonight.”

“Yeah,” Niall breathes, nodding and taking it carefully. He holds it at the edges with his fingertips, like you do with a polaroid as it develops, and it flares up something in Zayn’s stomach when he ducks his head to make it out, the border of notes, the dumb eye that Zayn suddenly hates, the half formed wolf. 

“It’s stupid,” Zayn says, “it’s just some like, garbage I was doing to pass the time.”

“Are you kidding?” Niall lowers it to the table, pushes it with the tips of his fingers back toward Zayn. “It’s sick, like, it looks like those notes are moving or something. Fucking great.”

“That’s what I was going for,” Zayn says, Niall’s big smile contagious. “I didn’t think it like, worked.”

“It works, so shut the fuck up,” Niall shakes his head, “I can’t believe you called it garbage.”

“I’m bad at like, judging my own shit,” Zayn says, feeling like he’s more drunk than he thinks to be telling this person he just met something he won’t even say out loud to himself. 

“We all are,” Niall shrugs, leaning in and lowering his voice further, “I hate a lot of our songs, so I just trust Harry’s opinion and go with it sometimes.”

“Oh.” Zayn laughs. “Harry seems like there’s not a lot of stuff he doesn’t like, though.”

“Exactly,” Niall grins, “it’s constant validation.”

Zayn starts laughing then in earnest, glancing up and catching Louis looking at him out of the corner of his eye, mouthing _I told you so_ to Zayn. 

“Hey,” Niall’s saying, his eyes looking bright suddenly, “would you ever think about doing like, album artwork?”

“Album artwork?” Zayn turns back to Niall, feeling dumb. “Like, for you? Or just in general?”

“No, for Beyonce,” Niall rolls his eyes, “yeah, for like, Harry and I. Harry has a weird older friend who knows people and can get us some studio space, we’re gonna record an EP. Well, try to anyway.”

Harry must have heard his name this time, because he’s yelling from across the table, voice loud with alcohol, “I don’t recall you calling Nick weird when he used to buy all our booze, Niall.”

“I did, just never to his face,” Niall shoots back, not taking his eyes off of Zayn. “Anyway, would you? Consider it? We wanna go full on like, hand drawn artwork, hand assembled, shit that will be worth millions one day.” 

“Um,” Zayn pauses, trying to collect himself, “don’t you need a name first?”

“We _had a name_ ,” Harry’s climbing over Louis and Eleanor now, long limbs knocking everything over as he tries to get closer, “and it was a good, _meaningful_ name.”

“We,” Niall starts, his face dark, “are not having a _punny name_ , Harold.” 

“It makes us seem clever,” Harry protests, leaning over Zayn and poking at Niall’s chest. “And you said you _liked_ it when I suggested it.”

“I was drunk as fuck,” Niall catches Harry’s wrist, holds it against his chest so Zayn is pinned between them, “I would have said The Hairy Taints was a good band name then.”

“Ew,” Eleanor says, all the guys laughing except for Harry, who’s still got his arm pressed against Zayn’s chest as Niall holds him in place.

“But banana splits, Niall.” Harry sounds sad, “and I’m not even Irish, so I have no emotional connection to Patrick’s Snakes.”

“You’re Irish?” Zayn hears himself ask, looking over at Niall, who’s rolling his eyes.

“My parents are, they came over here before I was born.” Then, to Harry, “and it doesn’t matter, it’s just a cool sounding name.”

“Is it though?” Harry asks, turning to the table, his elbow pressing into Zayn, “show of hands, who else thinks Patrick’s Snakes is a _cool_ name?” 

Niall finally lets go of Harry’s arm then to raise both of his arms high in the air, glaring at everyone else in turn, finally meeting Zayn’s eyes. Zayn shakes his head slightly, trying not to laugh when Harry starts whooping loudly, yelling that it’s time for another round, and it’s on him this time. 

“No one’s gonna vote for you fucking idiot name either, Harry,” Zayn hears Louis say when they get up to go to the bar, Zayn laughing when he looks over and Niall is slumped back against the torn plastic covering the booth, looking resigned. 

“Zayn, I just met you,” he says, “but I fucking hate you.”

“I’ll do the artwork for you though,” Zayn replies, surprised by how he doesn’t regret it immediately. “It’ll be a lot of bananas, I think.”

“Really fucking hate you,” Niall repeats, but he’s smiling. “Will they be crying tears that turn into clouds?”

**

It’s one of those things where Zayn starts to wonder just how much attention he pays to the world around him, simply because after that initial night meeting Niall and Harry, he starts to see them everywhere. Runs into Harry at the library one day when it’s raining and he ducks in there in between classes, Harry doing yoga in the stacks where Zayn was hoping to get a nap in. Niall outside of his Modernist seminar, Niall grinning and talking to him about what Zayn realized later was legitimately how much Niall hates cold weather, just fucking weather, until they were both ten minutes late. The two of them in the quad, Zayn hearing them before he could even see where they were, arguing about whose turn it was to do the dishes, ending up serving as a referee to the weirdest game of rock, paper, scissors Zayn’s ever seen. 

And now, as Zayn stops by The Coffeehouse, waiting for his chai at the end of the counter, someone pokes at this shoulder from behind, a voice in his ear.

“Malik, we gotta stop meeting like this,” Niall’s in front of him then, bangs peeking out the side of his baseball cap as he leans over to tie his shoe. 

“Hey,” Zayn takes his drink carefully, the heat warming the ceramic of the mug as he decides what to do. “I’m done for the day, was gonna sit for a bit and read, but you can join me?”

“Yeah?” Niall squints up at him from the floor, straightening up so they’re eye level. “Sick, I’ll get a coffee and meet you, yeah? In the corner?” He nods over to the corner that’s Zayn’s favorite, and Zayn wonders if Niall comes here a lot. 

“I’ll go sit then,” Zayn says, rolling his shoulder where his messenger bag strap is digging in.

“Okay,” Niall’s already off, Zayn making his way over to the corner. He sets the cup down, swearing under his breath when some sloshes over the edge. Ducking out of his bag, he slides it on the back of the worn leather armchair and walks over to the sideboard where they keep napkins, grabbing a handful for good measure. He briefly wonders if Niall wants some cream or sugar or hemp milk, deciding against it. Niall’s already sitting down when he gets back, dumping what looks like eight packets of raw sugar in his latte.

“How do you still have teeth?” Zayn asks in wonder when Niall sticks his finger full in his coffee, stirring it around before taking a sip. 

“Hey, I take very good care of my teeth, I’ll have you know,” Niall makes a face, showing a line of perfectly straight, white teeth. “They were super fucked up when I was a kid, and my parents don’t really buy into the American dental scheme, as my Dad calls it, so I had to beg them to get me braces as a graduation gift.”

“You asked for braces as a gift?” Zayn snorts, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before.”

“I’ll show you a pic sometime, I was like pure snaggletooth. And it fucking hurt, because I got the insane ones that work in like, a year or less. But hey, it’s worth it now.” The way Niall’s contorting his mouth, Zayn can tell that he’s running his tongue along his teeth. 

“I’m sorry, I never had to have braces,” Zayn shrugs, taking a drink of his tea before he says something else stupid.

“Why are you apologizing? That just makes you a lucky fuck.” Niall laughs, “and anyway, it really doesn’t matter now, and I will still eat as much sugar as I want to. I just, you know, brush.”

“Congratulations.” Zayn tugs at his scarf, pulling it loose until it falls in his lap. “Do you come here a lot?”

“Here? Yeah,” Niall takes another sip of coffee, making a face and reaching for another sugar packet from the pile on the table, “it’s close to Haz and I’s apartment, so I drop here a lot on my way back and forth.”

“Haz?” Zayn asks, drumming his fingers on the table, watching Niall as he pulls off his cap, running his hair through his hair. 

“Oh, Harry, sorry,” Niall stirs his coffee, “I call him Haz, most often.”

“Have you guys been friends for a long time?” Zayn normally doesn’t ask so many questions because he hates the feeling like someone will ask him something in return, but Niall doesn’t seem that type, the eye for an eye conversationalist. 

“Yeah, since…” Niall screws up his face, thinking, “god, middle school? I moved in eighth grade, new school, and Haz decided he was going to be my friend no matter what. He won’t admit it, but I think he felt bad for the skinny kid with messed up teeth and it started off as a like, nice guy pity thing. Now, though. Follow me to the ends of the earth, that one.” Niall smiles then, his eyes crinkling up at the corners, and Zayn realizes he was holding his breath.

“That’s kind of like me and Louis?” Zayn says, the words tripping out, “I’m sort of quiet, didn’t have a lot of friends, but there’s always been him. He’s gotten in a few fights for me, so I sort of like...I owe him a lot. He gets me.”

“I owe Haz a lot, but I’d never tell him that.” Niall laughs, “he’d ask for favors every day, and on top of that he’d get like, full veto power over all band decisions, somehow.”

“Louis would be a nightmare if I ever told him a thing, he’s a nightmare already, really.” As Zayn is saying it, Niall still laughing, he realizes that Niall never even asked him about Louis, about himself. Zayn feels comfortable.

“Do you and Louis live together?” Niall asks, pushing at his hair again.

“Nah, we’d kill each other.” Zayn laughs, “like, we really would. I actually live with my friend Liam, he was my roommate freshman year, he’s like. Nice. It’s hard to explain him, really. Nice.”

“So is he nice?” is what Niall follows up with, grinning, and Zayn kicks at this foot under the table. 

“You’ll have to meet him sometime,” Zayn pauses, “have you and Harry been playing music since you were kids?”

“Well, sort of,” Niall pulls his phone out of his pocket, “sorry, hold on, my ass keeps buzzing, it’s driving me insane,” he swipes his thumb across the screen, and Zayn can see it’s full of texts and emails, so many that Niall has to scroll through them all. “Okay, sorry, it’s just dumb shit.” He sets it face down on the table. “What was I talking about?”

“You and Harry and playing music,” Zayn supplies, feeling like an idiot. 

“Right. Um,” Niall coughs, taking another drink of coffee and making a face, “ugh, it’s cold. Anyway, I’ve been playing guitar since I was a kid, and Haz has always been a singer, so we’d play around a bit, but senior year I finally convinced him to take piano lessons after listening to years of whining. Like, we are talking literal, actual, years. Just constant. And once we ended up here together, it sort of became a thing. And now, we’re the fucking Banana Splits.”

“Were you really eating Banana Splits when you decided to,” Zayn clears his throat, “ _be a band forever_.” 

“Oh fucking hell,” Niall covers his face with his hands, “you remember that?”

“Harry has mentioned it every single time I’ve spoken to him then and since, so yes.”

“Okay, so we were at this party, right?” Niall starts, nodding at Zayn to follow along.

“Yeah, I know what a party is,” Zayn says, feeling weirdly defensive for a second.

“No no,” Niall meets Zayn’s eyes, looking frustrated, “I don’t mean it like that, I’m just...I’m trying to figure out a way to condense this story so it’ll make sense.”

“Oh.” Zayn relaxes, feeling stupid. “Sorry.”

“Nah, I’m sorry, I didn’t make that clear.” Niall huffs out a laugh, “so we were at a party and I was trying to cheer Haz up, because he had just broken up with this grad student he was seeing, Caroline, right, and we somehow ended up like, nearly blackout drunk and separated, and next thing I know I’m making out with some dude in the bathroom, and Haz walks in and thinks I’m being molested, right, and he’s so drunk, just. You’ve seen him walk normally, imagine that, but drunk.”

“Okay,” Zayn says slowly, trying to follow, because Niall is talking really fast, faster than Zayn can make his brain work, normally.

“So he’s walked in on me plenty of times, like, we live together, we’ve lived together since Freshman year, so he’s seen me with plenty of guys and girls before, but I saw him when he walked in and I remembered oh right, this night was about your best friend and not your dick, so I sort of said _no_ in this really pathetic way, like _noooooo_ , so he interpreted that as...I don’t know, a punching situation.”

“Wow,” Zayn says, “this is the shortened version?”

“Fuck you,” Niall grins, “so after that, when we’d been kicked out of the party, we’re sitting on the curb outside, in the fucking rain, and it’s the middle of the night, and Haz turns to me and opens his mouth, and I think it’s going to be this really profound thing, right?”

“And it wasn’t?”

“Fuck no,” Niall starts laughing, rubbing at his face with his palms until he calms down enough to continue. “He says, ‘Niall, I really need a banana split, and I need us to be in a band.’”

“Those two things, specifically?” Zayn feels the laughter bubble up then, because even though he’s only known them both a few weeks, he can picture it perfectly in his head.

“Yep.” Niall grins, “so we walked to the 24 hour diner down the street and got banana splits and wrote a song that was so fucking dumb we burned the lyrics ceremonially a week later.”

“You know,” Zayn says, “after hearing that, I’m really leaning toward the banana splits. It suits you.”

“Oh God, fucking somewhere Harry heard that, and now I’m fucked,” Niall groans, “finish up your tea though, you said you’re free after this?”

“Yeah,” Zayn gulps down his tea, waiting for Niall to finish whatever thought he’s having. It’s cold and a little grainy, tickling his throat weird on the way down.

“Good, Haz should be home by now, you should come over,” Niall smooths his hair, putting his hat back on his head, adjusting his glasses, “we can talk about artwork shit. You’re still in, right?”

“Um, yeah, if you still want?” Zayn hadn’t been sure, Niall and Harry hadn’t mentioned it in any of the texts or times that he’s seen them the past few weeks, didn’t want to bring it up himself. Didn’t let himself come up with anything on his own, his sketchbook laying blank on his desk.

“We both still want, we’re just fucking lazy about this sometimes, “ Niall stands up, “c’mon though, if we’re lucky Harry didn’t eat all the cookies my Mom sent the other day.”

“Your Mom still does that too?” Zayn had just finished off the last care package his Mom had sent, hiding the good fudge under his bed from Liam, who’s like a fucking vacuum about that stuff.

“I’d like, emancipate myself if she didn’t.” Niall shrugs, waiting for Zayn to wind his scarf back round his neck. “We’re not even ten minutes away, I promise.”

**

“Since I agreed to this,” Louis says, batting at Harry’s hands when they try to adjust the radio, Zayn laughing from the backseat, “you need to know that the Mystery Machine has some rules.”

“Do you really call it the Mystery Machine, though?” Harry asks, but Zayn can see that he moves so his feet aren’t propped up on the dash anymore, sitting up straighter in his seat as Louis drives. 

“Rule one: we don’t make fun of the name of the Mystery Machine, right Zayn,” Louis’s eyes meet Zayn’s in the rearview mirror, looking sharp.

“Right, we named this van very carefully.” Zayn stretches out his legs, reaching down to rub at a scuff mark on his boot. 

“What’s the second rule?” Niall calls from the far back where he’s laid out to make sure nothing happens to their equipment. Harry and Niall have a gig a couple of towns over, and Harry’s car can’t be trusted long distances, so Zayn had convinced Louis to be their transportation for the evening, Louis giving him a long look that made Zayn feel slightly uncomfortable and pausing FIFA for a second before agreeing, following it up with, “and never ask me something while I’m kicking your ass as a distraction technique ever again, or I’ll kill you.”

“Second rule is: I will let you know if you break any rules, just behave yourselves.” Louis nods over at Harry, “I don’t give a shit if you put your weird gazelle legs up on the dash, have at it.”

“Thanks!” Harry says, grinning back at Zayn, so sincere that it makes Zayn’s heart hurt.

“You say thanks now,” Zayn kicks his leg into the back of Louis’s chair, hard, “but just wait until he tells you how dare you break this rule he just made up just now, because he’s annoyed at something.”

“Oh, someone’s fucking walking,” Louis glares at him, Niall laughing from the back. 

“He wouldn’t, Louis is very responsible and nice,” Harry nods, “when we did our report, he even helped this poor girl Alexa who was terrified to talk, he told her to fake laryngitis and he’d just do her part.”

“I mean, I helped her lie, if we’re really gonna look at that as an example,” Louis groans, and Zayn knows how much he hates it when people point out his nicer qualities, even if a good ninety percent of him is full nice. 

“Yeah, you’re still a terrible fuck,” Zayn leans forward to pat his shoulder, “forcing that girl to lie.”

“He didn’t though, he-” Harry starts, stopping when Niall launches a crumpled up receipt at his head from the backseat. 

“Helping or hurting, Haz?” he asks, and Zayn cranes his neck around to smile at him, Niall rolling his eyes and mouthing _sorry, can’t take him anywhere_.

“Ladies, can we just all shut up and tell the driver which building it is?” Louis’s slowing down as he turns down a side street off the main road, peering at the map on his phone.

“It’s there, turn right in,” Harry’s pointing.

“That is a church.” Louis’s voice is flat. Zayn knew he maybe shouldn’t have left some stuff out.

“Yeah, the gig’s in the basement,” Niall pipes up from the backseat, “they like, rent it out on weekends and stuff. Very DIY.”

“This is a _church_ ,” Louis repeats, turning in slowly and parking, leaving the lights on as he turns around, slowly. 

“Are you afraid to walk in, lest you burst into flames?” Zayn asks, poking at Louis’s shoulder. 

“Well, for one thing I’m gonna have to put this away,” Louis reaches into the pocket of his vest, pulling out the baggie of weed, reaching over Harry’s knee to shove it in the glove compartment.

“If that’s a problem, then I can’t go in either,” Niall says from the back, “because I have an insane contact high from sitting back here. This is like 200% saturation level weed carpet.”

“They’re not going to do drug testing at the door,” Harry turns around, “and we’re sort of running late, so maybe we should. Get moving?”

“Never knew you were so forceful, Styles.” Louis deadpans, Zayn cracking up until Niall clips the back of his head, and when Zayn looks up Harry is frowning slightly. 

“Why don’t you go in,” Zayn says, “and we’ll bring in the stuff, okay Harry?”

“Sure,” Harry’s smiling again, broadly, “Louis, come on, I”ll make sure you get in.”

“Ha,” Louis rolls his eyes at Zayn, but then he’s unbuckling and following Harry anyway, door slamming behind them both. 

“Thanks,” Niall says, after a second of them sitting in silence. Zayn turns then, sees that Niall’s got his glasses off, fishing the tail of his shirt out from under his jacket to rub at the lenses.

“Why d’you wear those?” Zayn asks, and Niall looks up, surprised. They look bluer without the glasses in the way.

“Oh, you figured out they’re not needed, huh,” Niall says lightly, holding them up to peer at the lenses in the glow from the nearby street light. 

“Your eyes don’t really change when you’re wearing them,” Zayn says, and bites his lip when Niall gives him a weird look, continuing, “normally, the lens would distort it a bit when they’re on.”

“Oh, right, I thought you meant something a lot weirder, like I look feral or something without them.” Niall puts them back on then, his hair hanging in his one eye like always. 

“Yeah, that is actually what I meant.” Zayn rolls his eyes, leaning over the back seat until his own hair flops down on his forehead. 

“Your one eye is cool,” is what Niall says next, and it catches Zayn off guard.

“Just the one?” Zayn asks, slowly, sitting back a little bit.

“I didn’t mean,” Niall looks a little flushed, although in the dim light of the van Zayn can’t really tell, “I just noticed it the other day, when we were talking about colors for the cover? It’s like, a freckle?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it,” Zayn feels slow, uneven. Sometimes he doesn’t know how to react to Niall, like. Niall says stuff before he thinks, and Zayn can’t wrap his head around that.

“I don’t mean I’m staring at your eyes like a creep,” Niall looks the least put together Zayn’s ever seen, “it’s more like, once you notice something, you can’t _not_ see it? It’s like that. With the eye freckle.” He looks down then, and Zayn tries to think of what to say, knows that what he should probably say is something like, it’s fine, laugh it off, but he wants things to be more even, somehow.

“Your eyes aren’t all blue,” is what he settles on, mumbling the words under his breath so at least he’s saying them, but maybe Niall won’t hear. “There’s a ring of this golden hue around the center. It’s cool.”

“Cool.” Niall echoes, smiling up at him, brilliantly. He still heard.

“So, we better get inside before Louis starts calling and swearing while he’s inside a church?” Zayn forces himself to move, scooting over to the end of the seat so he can battle with the sliding door that sticks sometimes.

“I hope you can swear in a church basement at least,” Niall’s voice comes from behind him when Zayn gets it open, taking a deep breath of the cool night air, “otherwise that’ll like, cut our set in half, easy.”

**

Zayn’s not sure how Liam got him to agree to this, but suddenly their place is full of people and he feels hot, closed in. It had started so simple, Liam announcing to Zayn one morning that he was sick of Zayn never being around anymore, that it was time they threw a party for all of Zayn’s new friends, Zayn mumbling that two new friends, while technically plural, doesn’t count, but Liam going on to say that Louis, of all people, told him Zayn was finally doing things other than moping around. So Liam was _hurt_ and _disappointed_ and a million other Liam buzzwords that all led to Zayn agreeing, texting Niall and asking if he and Haz could come for a quiet, small party that weekend, Niall already replying “YYYYY” before Zayn’s phone screen had time to lock. 

Except. Liam seemed to have invited the whole entire world, Zayn barely recognizing anyone in their small apartment when he came downstairs wondering why it was so loud, backtracking when he saw the people to make sure he locked his bedroom door, glad that he got it fixed after the time Louis got so drunk last year he broke it down and tried to have sex with El with Zayn asleep in the bed next to them. Zayn hasn’t let Liam throw a party since then. 

Sure that his shit is secure, Zayn heads back down the stairs, nodding a the few people he does know before walking into the kitchen, where Liam is standing next to El, looking deflated as he stares at the counter.

“I don’t know what went wrong,” he says dejectedly, El rubbing his back.

“Did you read the recipe?” El asks, using that tone Zayn knows is special for Liam, knows Lou hates how nice she is to him. 

“I don’t remember, honestly, I was just excited to make ‘em,” Liam looks up and Zayn, who starts laughing when he realizes what Liam’s upset over.

“Did you fuck up the jell-o shots?” Zayn asks, looking down at the little paper cups. He snags one over Liam’s protests, the red liquid spilling out over the side as he downs it. “Fuck, how much sugar did you put in this?”

“Too much?” Liam asks, unhelpfully, before sighing again.

“They just didn’t set right,” Eleanor takes one, making a face at Zayn when she tips it back. “That is sweet.”

“Did you put any alcohol in these?” Zayn feels like his teeth are rotting out of his mouth, taking another one anyway.

“I did!” Liam groans, “Maybe I’ll go tap the second keg, make sure we have enough.” He sidesteps Zayn then, Zayn feeling a panic rise in his chest. 

“Liam, why do we need a second keg, how many,” Zayn stops when Liam just grins back at him and shoots him a thumbs up.

“It’s really not that many people, Zayn,” El rubs at his back now, using her Liam voice, and Zayn hates that it makes him feel a little better. 

“I guess.” Zayn’s about to say something else when Niall and Harry are suddenly there, in the kitchen, Harry holding up two bottles of wine like he’s making a grand entrance.

“Hello, we’ve brought wine, like good guests do!” Harry yells, Niall rolling his eyes next to him. 

“Harry watched a lot of the cooking channel this week,” Niall says by way of explanation, “there’s some hospitality show.”

“Plus I just like wine,” Harry adds, handing off the bottles to Niall, “ooo, are those jell-o shots?”

“They’re sort of jell-o shots,” El says, “but you feel free to try one, someone has to drink them.”

“Don’t you eat jell-o?” Harry asks, looking thoughtful as he picks up a little cup, looking even smaller in his big hand, “if you chew, it’s an eat, I think.” He tips it against his mouth, his eye twitching a bit, Zayn holding in his laughter, “Nope. That’s a drink.”

“Like I said,” El laughs, “but you guys have at it, I should go find Louis before he gets too drunk.” She winks at Zayn, patting his shoulder as she leaves the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind her, the sounds of the music, some shit Liam put on, making the wall vibrate.

“You know,” Harry’s saying, “you get used to how gross these are.” When Zayn looks, he’s got four empty cups balanced in his hand, and his eyes look brighter than they usually do. 

“Oh no,” Zayn holds out his hands to take the wine bottles from Niall and stowing them on the counter behind the toaster, “you’re gonna get a crazy sugar high from that.”

“Sugar high?” Niall says, sounding interested. He comes up to stand behind Zayn, his chin brushing Zayn’s shoulder as he reaches around to grab one. 

“Oh yeah,” Zayn reaches for another, knowing that Niall will probably want it immediately, “these are right up your alley, maybe Liam did it on purpose.”

“Did you tell him about how much Niall loves sugar?” Harry asks, reaching up to retie the scarf he’s got tied around his head.

“I didn’t,” Zayn feels like Harry’s really asking something else, wishing he hadn’t done those two shots without eating anything earlier, spending his time sketching instead, “I don’t know, I guess maybe I mentioned it in passing?”

“You talk about us,” Harry says, grinning, his eyes flickering over to Niall, who’s bright red and grabbing two more of the shots, downing them immediately. 

“Well,” Zayn tries to think of what to say, “I sort of, like, hang out with you a lot.”

“You do, you _do_ hang out with us a lot,” Harry sounds bright, cheerful, and very, very dangerous. 

“Okay,” Niall claps his hand over Harry’s mouth, Harry going wide eyed, “I think we’ve established that Zayn talks about us, his friends, with Liam, his friend and roommate.”

“Mmmph,” Harry starts to pull away from Niall’s hand, but Niall cuts him off, glancing back at Zayn. 

“Let’s go into the party,” Niall shrugs, “see what we can do about that fucking awful music. Is that fucking Skrillex?”

“I like it when they drop the bass,” Zayn says, Niall smiling at him now. 

“I heard that’s a whole thing.” 

**

“Zaaaaaaaaaaaaayn,” Louis’s got his arm slung around Zayn’s shoulder, “I’m so fucking glad you’re not a sad sack anymore.”

“‘m not a what?” Zayn leans into Louis’s neck, pressing his nose there, keeping his eye on Niall and Harry across the room as they dick around with Liam, the unofficial drunk DJs for the party, even though the party’s mostly over and Zayn’s mostly super fucking drunk, finally feeling a little more free after he found Andy taking a piss in the fern Liam’s Mom had brought last weekend, making Liam tell everyone that the party was over, you don’t have to come home but you can’t stay here, Harry putting on “Closing Time” as the majority of people shuffled out, pointing at all the couples and yelling “I know who I want to take me hoooome” until Zayn told him to shut up, Niall encouraging him to sing louder as he swayed in place next to him. 

“A giant fucking saaaaaaaad saaaaaaaaaaaaaaack,” Louis’s doing that thing when he’s really fucking trashed, like he’s lost all control of his vowels, the point when El would normally stop him, but she’s already asleep curled on the couch next to Louis, covered in Louis’s sweater. 

“I told you, I’m fine about the Perrie stuff,” Zayn says, forcing his voice to come out right so he doesn’t sound like a giant dick, like how Louis sounds.

“Sure, you kept on saying it,” Louis pokes at Zayn’s chest, “but you can’t hide a thing from me, Malik, even if you can convince Zayn.”

“Wait, what?” Zayn is trying to follow, really he is. 

“You, Zayn. Close enough,” Louis leans forward, jostling El and freezing, his elbow just above her face. “Shit fucking shit, that was close. Anyway, since you’ve been hanging out with Niall every other second, and fuckface Harry, you’ve been better. So. I’m good. Glad.”

“Um,” Zayn sways where he’s sitting, hearing Niall laugh across the room, Harry telling some story to Liam that involves a lot of hand movements. Niall steps around them them, rounding the coffee table and stumbling into the kitchen, Zayn tracking his movements, in case he falls. Niall told him last week he had a fucked up knee that bothered him sometimes. 

“No um,” Louis scoffs, waving his hand, “listen, Liam tried to have a heart to heart about it with me, okay? _Liam_. I was one hundred percent sober, and he fucking touched my shoulder, Zayn, said, ‘we need to talk about him, Lou’ in this serious voice like we were your fucking parents.”

“How terrible,” Zayn snorts, starting to laugh.

“I have fucking SUFFERED with this, okay?” Louis pouts, taking a long drink from his cup, draining it and tossing it on the floor. “And yeah, I hope Liam fucking saw me do that just now.”

“One of Liam’s friends puked in the crisper drawer of the fridge, so Liam can’t really say anything,” Zayn wrinkles his nose, just remembering it. It happened so early in the evening, and it was so bright red. Lou laughs at that, his eyes drifting closed as he curls his hand around El’s hip next to him. 

Niall walks back into the room then, his hand deep in a bag of chips, and Zayn struggles to get up, walks over to where Harry’s laughing with Liam.

“Hey,” Liam says, when Niall approaches them, “those are my chips.”

“Mine now,” Niall shrugs, talking with his mouth full, “but here, if you want.”

He hands it to Zayn instead of Liam though, brushing his hands off on the back of his cords, and Zayn looks down at the empty broken chips at the bottom of the bag, laughing hard as he hands it off to Liam. 

“I finished off the end of the Jell-o shots, too,” Niall says, his eyes bright and glasses crooked. Zayn resists the urge to fix them. 

“Not all of them, because I hid two here for myself,” Harry pulls out two little cups, grinning as he hands one to Zayn, “to be fair.”

“Ugh,” Zayn makes a face, but sort of wants to chase his buzz rather than let it fizzle, “fine.” Weirdly enough, it tastes less gross this time.

“Hey Liam,” Harry says sweetly, swaying back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back, “can I delete some stuff off of your iTunes?”

“What?” Liam sputters, and Zayn makes quick work of backing away, nodding at Niall to follow him.

“Harry’ll win,” Niall says, when they’re safely in the kitchen, “he’s got a way with people.”

“I know,” Zayn smiles, “and this will make my living situation a lot easier.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall says, “good.” He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something else, but Zayn thinks about what Louis said earlier.

“I cheated on my girlfriend,” Zayn says, in a rush, before he can stop himself. “Last year.”

“Um,” Niall shakes his head, hand coming up to push at his hair, “I don’t know what I was expecting you to say just now, but it wasn’t that.” He’s leaned back, against the counter, and Zayn realizes he’s standing a little too close, like he’s accidentally bracketing him in. Zayn takes a step back.

“Perrie,” Zayn forces her name out, “we were together a year.”

“And you,” Niall chews at his thumbnail, talking around his hand, “cheated on her?”

“She went abroad, to England, for a semester,” Zayn can’t remember the last time he talked about it, if he ever has, really, told anyone the story who didn’t live it with him, “I don’t know, I was lonely and went to a party, and there was a girl I knew from my drawing class. It just happened.”

“Shit happens,” Niall shrugs, meeting Zayn’s eyes with his own. They look bloodshot.

“I uh, waited to tell her until she got back,” Zayn closes his eyes at the memory, at how broken she looked, how much she cried, “and I don’t, I don’t really think it would have worked out anyway? But.”

“You still feel like a shit.” Niall says, after what feels like a really long minute. 

“Yeah.” Zayn sighs, feeling still drunk, but also really clear, “I don’t know, it’s a hard thing to not feel weird about, like, about yourself. About her.”

“I get it.” Niall’s chewing on hit thumbnail again, looking like he’s considering something. “I’ve never, you know, done that?”

“Oh.”

“But,” Niall continues, “I’m not...really...I’ve never really done an actual relationship?”

“Like….never?” Zayn knows that it’s not an unusual thing, but it feels unusual to him, for some reason. Like Niall’s so open as a person, so warm, so something that Zayn can’t even think of a word for in the moment, that it seems wrong he wouldn’t get to share it with someone else, that there’s someone out there who’s missing out on him.

“I mean,” Niall grins, “I’m fine, I get around, I guess I’ve just never felt a reason to stay for longer than...well, whatever. A few weeks? I guess.”

“You’re young,” Zayn shrugs, feeling like he’s developing the spins a bit.

“Thanks, Grandma Malik, I was concerned.” Niall steps forward then, suddenly, their noses bumping together. Zayn steps back immediately, Niall laughing as they walk back into the sitting room, which is almost entirely dark. 

“Those two are sleeping,” Harry points at Lou and El on the sofa, “and Liam said if I was gonna destroy his music collection he’d rather sleep through it. But now I’d rather sleep, in general.”

“C’mon,” Zayn groans, that feeling where you slam into exhausted hitting him hard, “we can go up to mine, you two aren’t going anywhere tonight.”

“Yaaaay,” Harry pumps his fist, darting in front of Niall and crouching, “Niall, hop on, Harry train ride. C’mon ride it. Woo woo.”

“Are you new year’s eve 2011 drunk?” Niall asks, warily, Zayn laughing and feeling like there’s a hysterical tinge to it. 

“Um,” Harry screws up his face, thinking, “nah, I’m like Halloween ‘13, I can handle it.”

“Alright,” Niall steadies himself on Harry’s shoulders, Harry crouching until Niall hops on. To his credit, Zayn notices that Harry only stumbles slightly as he balances him, Niall’s hair falling down in his eyes.

“Oh,” Harry sounds disappointed when Zayn leads them to the stairs, “there are stairs involved.”

“D’you want me to hop off?”

“No, I want there to be no stairs.”

“I’ll hop off then,” Niall laughs, his arms sliding from around Harry’s neck.

“There aren’t too many,” Zayn feels idiotic for trying to convince them it’s fine, Harry _can_ carry Niall up the stairs.

“I’ll rally,” Harry looks determined, and Zayn turns so he can go up first, and avoid getting knocked down when Harry ends up dropping Niall.

Surprisingly, Zayn doesn’t hear any swearing or terrible thumps as he unlocks his door, Harry ducking past him into the room, dumping Niall on the bed. “We did it!!!” He holds up his arms for Zayn to high five, Niall laughing on his back on the bed. 

“Okay,” Zayn’s feeling more and more sober, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom, there’s extra blankets and stuff on the bed.”

He’s not gone long, just enough for a piss and to swish some mouthwash around, too tired to deal with his toothbrush, but by the time he’s walking back in he nearly trips over Harry, who’s sprawled out like a toddler on his floor and snoring, half covered by the afghan Zayn’s grandma gave him last Christmas. 

“He’s sort of a going until he’s gone type,” Niall whispers sluggishly from the bed where he’s laid out, pressed up against the wall. 

“Um,” Zayn had figured he’d offer the two of them the bed, he could take the floor. But. He steps carefully over Harry, climbing into bed and adjusting the pillow under his head. Niall’s got his glasses off, and in the dim moonlight his eyes look all blue, no gold. 

“I didn’t know,” Niall shrugs, his shoulder tipping up on one side up to his ear as he lies on his side, “what side you sleep on. I guessed.”

“Good guess.” Zayn holds his breath, angling his body so he’s perfectly parallel to how Niall is lying. “Niall?”

“Yeah?” Niall’s breathing is slow and even, and Zayn wonders how long it takes him to fall asleep. 

“The thing I told you, about Perrie?” 

“Yeah?”

“I think I just realized that,” Zayn pauses, running his fingertip along the edge of the pillow as he decides what he wants to say, “since I met you, you know, you guys, I’ve been like. Better. I didn’t know I had been that, sort of, I don’t know. Messed up.”

“I’m glad I met you, too,” Niall says immediately, in a rush. Then, slower, “We’re glad we met you.”

“Good.” Zayn lets his eyes close then, against whatever else he might say.

“Good,” is the last thing he hears Niall reply, before Zayn feels himself getting pulled under, Harry’s snoring lulling him to sleep. 

**

_what ya doing?_

The text comes with a loud bloop from somewhere behind Zayn, and when he glances at the screen and sees that it’s Niall, he gets up carefully from the circle of newspapers he’s got spread out in the living room, pushed the couch against the wall for more room. He walks into the kitchen and washes his hands quickly, getting rid of the paint and pencil streaking his fingers before walking back to where he left his phone, scooping it up and swiping at the screen, replying.

_working on the artwork like I promised_

There’s no response for a second, and it doesn’t look like Niall’s typing either, so Zayn adds, _what about u?_ and sends it, settling carefully back where he was sitting, looking down at the small squares laid out. He had done a few sketches for Harry and Niall to look at, smiling when he ended up sitting with a bowl of cereal and a beer in front of some cooking show while they argued behind him over what was their favorite. They hadn’t decided anything, finally agreeing to call a truce and sleep on it. But this was ages ago, even before the party a couple of weeks ago, so Zayn had taken it upon himself to try and figure something out, telling Niall that he had an idea, he’d let him know when it was done, don’t tell Harry because he didn’t want to answer one million questions.

 _I’m sort of outside?_ is what comes next, followed by a heavy knock on the door in a rhythm that Zayn recognizes as one of the new songs Niall had played for him a couple of days before. 

“I wasn’t planning on coming, I swear,” is what Niall says as soon as Zayn opens the door, hurrying in against the cold air that rushes around him. 

“And yet,” Zayn says, yanking at the beanie Niall’s got half hanging off of his head, “here you are.”

“Legit,” Niall laughs, “I was hoping you’d be home because I was nearby, but then when you said you were working on artwork, I sort of just turned and found myself here.”

“How close were you?” Zayn asks, as Niall shrugs off his coat, pushing up the sleeves of his plaid shirt that Zayn recognizes as one of Harry’s. Or maybe it was originally Niall’s.

“Uh,” Niall rubs at the back of his neck, looking sheepish, his cheeks flushing red, “close enough, I may have jogged a bit. A light jog? I don’t know, I got excited.”

“I feel bad for disappointing you,” Zayn starts, but then Niall’s spotted the mess on the floor, dropping to his knees next to the edge of the newspaper, leaning down so far to look that Zayn’s sure he’s gonna come back up with paint on his nose.

“No shit,” Niall says, looking up at Zayn with a smile so wide it looks like his face is going to crack in half, “are you serious with this?”

“I don’t have to be?” Zayn can tell from Niall’s tone that he likes it. Zayn thinks. 

“It’s. It’s like everything,” Niall breathes out, his voice low when he leans over it again, his fingers hovering over the squares, “I don’t want to touch and fuck anything up, sorry.”

“Yeah, they’re still drying, and like, a work in progress.” Zayn drops down so he’s sitting across from Niall, curling his legs so they’re out of the way. “I don’t know, after you and Harry couldn’t decide, I thought...I thought maybe I could do it all? Like, keep a theme, sort of-”

“With the cool music notes that move,” Niall points to the border Zayn did in charcoal around the edges, uneven and different on every square, “like what you did the night we met,” he adds, under his breath, glancing up at Zayn with this look that Zayn can’t read but makes him feel something unnameable all the same.

“Right, sorry, I know that wasn’t in the sketches, but I dunno, it seemed it fit?” Zayn pulls at the edge of the square Niall’s looking at intently, like he can pull it back to himself or something.

“Fuck,” Niall laughs, “I was sort of disappointed it wasn’t in your sketches, but was like, embarrassed.”

“What were you embarrassed about?” Zayn can hear his voice, how it comes out sounding like it’s not his, like it’s lower, at some pitch Zayn didn’t know he even had.

“I…” Niall laughs, leaning back against the couch behind him, bringing up his knees and wrapping his arms around them, hugging them to his chest until his forearms look like they’re strained with it. “I just was, can we change the subject?” Niall meets Zayn’s eyes for a quick second, then laughs again and looks away.

“Um,” Zayn feels like his whole brain is stuttering, “so, I thought I could have that part, but then do like, all of the different options? And we can get them all printed, so it’s like sort of a...collect them all situation.”

“Like Pokemon cards?” Niall’s laughing in earnest now, looking more relaxed, and Zayn’s stomach climbs back down where it’s supposed to be.

“Like Pokemon cards,” Zayn agrees, and then says the next part, quickly, “and I was helping Liam with his marketing homework last week, and there was something in there that made me think...you and Harry have a pretty steady following of people who come to your shows, right?”

“Yeah, like maybe fifty people,” Niall grins, “it’s blowing up.”

“Still,” Zayn looks down at the edge of the newspaper, playing with it, ripping at it with his fingertips, “if there are a lot of different ones, people might want to like, buy more? If they get one and their friend gets another, like, and then it’s that thing where you want something you don’t have? I thought it might sort of...psychology people into buying more. Supporting you more? And if they’re different enough, it won’t matter so much that it’s not some digital thing, or maybe if you guys get more money we could do a thing where it’s artwork attached to a flash drive with a digital copy, or-”

“Zayn,” Niall cuts him off, and when Zayn looks up his eyes are wide and his face is pale, “you’ve really thought about all of this?” His voice comes out as a whisper, and Zayn thinks he might puke.

“I know I’m not like, a band member, but I was already doing the artwork, so,” Zayn starts, but then Niall’s shoving at his shoulder, hard at first but then his fingers grip at the fabric there , bunching Zayn’s sweater up in his hand.

“Shut the fuck up, this is great.” Niall squeezes his hand, “just.” He’s leaning forward then, and Zayn freezes as Niall wraps his arms around him awkwardly, the pile of Zayn’s careful artwork between them. Zayn let’s his hand come up and rest on Niall’s back, palm flat and open against his soft shirt, and he tries to breathe in even, tries not to wonder what fabric softener Niall uses, why he smells so good. 

“Okay,” Niall says, pulling back slowly, “is there anything I can do to help? I mean, like...take something to Kinko’s? Hand you pencils?”

Zayn laughs, his voice coming out strangled. “No, but shouldn’t Harry….”

“Oh right,” Niall smiles, easy, pulling out his phone, “I’ll send him pics, but this is just a formality, because we both know he’ll send back every single smiley available on his phone.”

“That’s fair,” Zayn watches how Niall rises up on his knees, carefully framing the picture on his phone, taking one with and without flash, frowning at his screen.

“You’re seriously really good,” Niall says, still looking at his phone, laughing, “will you draw me sometime?”

“Nah, I don’t like you,” Zayn waits for Niall to laugh, feels it all the way down his arms and legs when he does.

**

That night, Zayn lies in bed and writes Lou eight different versions of _so I think I'm into Niall_ before he erases it entirely and tries to sleep, staring at his ceiling for what feels like hours instead.

**

“This feels dumb without an actual CD,” Niall laughs, reaching for another of the heavy cardboard cases, and weaving the twine along the edge.

“It also feels dumb without an actual name,” Harry says darkly, pouting where he’s sitting on Niall’s bed after Niall and Zayn told him they only had enough supplies for a hundred and Harry already ruined two. 

“Haz,” Niall starts, at the same time Zayn starts to speak, Niall laughing and gesturing at Zayn, “go ahead.”

“Harry, like I said, we can print out an insert with some cool typography, I could even design a font just for you guys?” Zayn glances over at Niall, who’s grinning as he looks down, folding over the edge of the case. “So once you decide on a name, we can add it in.”

“We’ve been To Be Determined at shows for months now,” Harry’s got his arms crossed now, in the gesture Niall told Zayn he secretly calls the Styles Sulk, “people are gonna start thinking it’s our actual name. No one even remembers we used to the The Banana Splits.”

“Trust me,” Niall tosses one of Harry’s rejects at the bed, Harry breaking his sulk to catch it, “people will never forget that. It’s too fucking stupid.”

“Your mom is fucking stupid,” Harry says, his eyes widening as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Niall, don’t tell your mom I said that.”

“Poor Maura, she’s gonna be so sad,” Niall shakes his head, “Zayn, can you hand me my phone? I have a phone call to make.”

“Niall, I never told my mom about the time you said she was fat,” Harry’s voice is trembling and loud, “so don’t even.”

“Yeah, this is totally the same as me making a your mama joke in middle school,” Niall takes the phone when Zayn offers it, and Zayn tries to not think about how their fingers brush when he does, “it’s so sad, Haz, how you’re gonna be blacklisted from Christmas Eve dinner.”

“I won’t get the _stew_??” Harry launches himself half off the bed then, reaching for Niall’s hands, “Niall, c’mon,” he whines, one of his long legs almost knocking Zayn on the head in the process.

“I can even,” Zayn says, loudly, “design a font that’s based off of both of your handwritings.”

“You can?” Harry stops, looking excited, “for real?”

“No shit,” Niall says, dropping his phone on the floor in front of him.

“No shit.” Zayn says, glad that he was able to broker peace.

“Use more of my handwriting, though,” Harry sounds thoughtful, “not Niall’s loopy doopy stuff.”

“Numerous people have told me I have excellent penmanship,” Niall says, “and it’s way better than the autograph I saw you practicing the other day.”

“I told you we weren’t going to _mention that_ ,” Harry’s eyes are wide, glancing over at Zayn, “you are lucky that I’ve accepted Zayn into my circle.”

“Man, did I miss that acceptance letter?” Zayn shakes his head, catches Niall’s eye as he does. Niall’s grinning.

“It’s not a letter, it’s a feeling,” Harry seems nonplussed by Zayn’s teasing, so maybe Zayn is really in his circle, “it just washes over you when you’re in my presence.”

“Is that what you were talking about that time I found you doing library yoga?” Zayn tries to remember back to all of those months ago, Niall snorting next to him. “That makes more sense, now.”

“Yes! See,” Harry scoots back up on the bed, leaning back and pointing at Niall, “I told you that Zayn didn’t just get _you_ better than anyone else.”

“ _Haz_ ,” Niall hisses, and when Zayn looks over at him he’s pushing at his bangs, “can you maybe learn to filter?”

“Um,” Zayn feels like he should say something, but he’s coming up blank, trying not to focus on how red Niall looks, how much he’s fidgeting with his hair, how when he looks up Niall’s got the album sketches tacked up on the corkboard above his messy desk.

“I’m really not going to get Christmas Eve Irish stew now,” Harry says sadly, kicking his feet at the wall. 

“No Haz,” Niall sighs, something like a laugh tinging the edges of it, “you really, really aren’t.”

Zayn holds his breath, wishing he knew what to say. Realizes from the look on Niall’s face as he hands him another square of cardstock that Niall gets it. They resume their little CD assembly line in silence, Zayn about to suggest that they put on some music when Harry starts to sing softly under his breath above them.

“Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen,” Harry sings, low, “nobody knows but Niall.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Niall laughs, under his breath, and Zayn bites his lip to stop himself from laughing hysterically. 

**

“So why did you want me to meet you here?” Zayn asks, rubbing his gloved hands over his face to warm up. He’s pretty sure the freezing wind had blown off half of his face skin on the short walk over to the craft store from his place, getting Niall’s 911 text to meet him there immediately half an hour earlier.

“I need your help,” Niall pushes the edge of his hair further up under his beanie, the lenses of his glasses fogged over, “with Haz’s gift.”

“Isn’t Harry’s stepdad coming to get you guys tomorrow?” Zayn asks, laughing. “Unless Harry’s car is-”

“Nah,” Niall laughs, “I told Haz to fill it up so the fuel line wouldn’t freeze, but Haz and listening to me is a problem sometimes.”

“Right,” Zayn watches the final edges of fog dissipate from Niall’s glasses, “and you decided to leave his Christmas gift for the last second?”

“Well,” Niall sighs, “so I wanted to order a t-shirt special for him, but I didn’t realize that it took weeks to get here, so I realized hey, Zayn does art things, maybe he could help make one?”

“You want to make a shirt?” Zayn starts walking toward where he knows the aisle is that has shirts, “Glitter puff paint, right?”

“Yeah, in neon colors,” Niall laughs, following Zayn as he weaves through the fake flower section, “and then extra glitter on top.”

“I’ve only screen printed shirts a couple of times,” Zayn stops in front of the adult shirts section, “but I think we can get it done by tonight so it’ll be good for you to take it home tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Niall exhales, sounding relieved, “I googled it but it seemed impossible to me, and I had wanted to see you before I left anyway, so.”

“Luckily I didn’t have any plans,” Zayn decides not to overthink the _wanted to see you_ part, “and uh, I was going to call you later anyway.”

“Great minds,” Niall’s voice is casual, but Zayn still doesn’t look at him, concentrating on the wall of folded shirts.

“What color do you think Harry will want?” Zayn asks, pulling out a navy one and holding it up. “We should pick that first so we know what color ink to get.”

“He looks good in navy like that,” Niall says thoughtfully, “as he likes to say constantly, but is there a kids section?”

“Yeah, just behind us,” Zayn looks back at the shirt he’s holding still, thinking about Harry’s long torso, “this is a medium though, and it should fit him fine?”

“Zayn, you just don’t get it,” Niall shoves at his shoulder, and when Zayn looks he’s smiling, “the tight look is in, Haz always buys kids section.”

“Just Haz?” Zayn asks, thinking about how sometimes Niall takes off his sweater when they’re hanging out and he gets warm, always that strip of skin exposed where his shirt rides up.

“Shut up,” Niall crouches down in front of the kids’ section, pulling out a much smaller navy tee and standing, wincing when Zayn hears the crack of his one knee.

“That sounded,” Zayn starts, hand hovering in the air between them.

“Fuck off, I’m fine,” Niall rolls his eyes, holding up shirt, “okay, this looks ridic small.”

“That won’t even cover half of his chest,” Zayn thinks, “like, his dumb butterfly will be sticking out the bottom.”

“Maybe we can compromise,” Niall tosses the shirt back on the shelf, reaching for the shirt in Zayn’s hands, “and get like, a size small, but an adult small. Haz can squeeze into that, I think.”

“Or we could just get this one that will fit, make him try something new?” Zayn suggests, gently.

“Switching it up,” Niall holds the shirt up against himself, stepping back from Zayn, “are you sure?”

“I’m 100%.” Zayn laughs, “trust me, so now we need to get the other stuff, I think it’s just the next aisle over.”

“Okay,” Niall follows him, “I can’t wait for you to show me how to do this, I watched like, three whole youtube tutorials and it was more confusing each time.”

“It’s seriously really easy,” Zayn stops in front of the frames and ink, “there are just really specific steps you have to follow so it will work.”

“Specific steps, that’s where I don’t do well,” Niall laughs, running his finger along the line of inks, “I sort of like this silver color.”

“Yeah,” Zayn looks over the selection, “I think it would be easiest and cheapest to just get like, a kit, what has everything you need and includes the screen, too.”

“Okay,” Niall reaches for the box Zayn points at, “and that’s it? This and the shirt?”

“Let me see,” Niall holds up the box, and Zayn peers at the back of it, “this comes with like, the normal process colors and black, so I think we should get that silver one to use.”

“What the fuck are process colors?” Niall leans his head down, his forehead bumping Zayn’s as he tries to read it upside down.

“Like, when you have a color printer, right?” Zayn points, “it’s Cyan, Magenta, and Yellow, those make up all the other colors.”

“Oh. Sounds complicated.” Niall still hasn’t moved his forehead from Zayn’s, and Zayn stands as still as he can.

“Right, which is why we’ll just get the color we actually want to use.” 

“Okay,” Niall steps back then, tucking the box under his arm. “So is it okay if we do this at yours? I don’t want Haz to see.”

“Yeah, of course,” Zayn thinks back to what Liam was doing when he left, “I think Liam is probably taking his new girlfriend out tonight, so he might be gone already.”

“Cool,” Niall grins, “c’mon, let’s go check out.”

**

Niall spreads out the last newspaper on the kitchen table, looking over at Zayn as he rips open the box, handing him the screen and making sure everything is laid out on the counter that they’ll need. 

“A squeegee?” Niall asks, when Zayn hands it to him.

“Yeah, it helps spread the ink and the filler.” Zayn shakes the small container of filler and drawing fluid, setting them on the table along with the brush. 

“Ink I got, but filler? Like what they put in fast food burgers? Is it pink slime?” Niall laughs, sounding embarrassed.

“I only know this stuff because I’ve done it before,” Zayn says gently, not wanting Niall to feel stupid, like how Niall is always patient when he’s talking about writing songs with Zayn.

“Yeah, it’s just,” Niall shakes his head, “weird words.”

“There are much weirder words,” Zayn says, “than like, filler.”

“Yeah, like half of the stuff you read, all the poems and stuff.” Niall looks annoyed for a second, and Zayn laughs, “seriously, I’ve tried with those ones you said were your favorites?”

“Wait, seriously?” Zayn stands still, feeling struck dumb.

“Just, when you have ones that you mentioned a lot, and that list you sent me, and the stuff up on your wall, and…” Niall trails off, turning red again, playing with his fucking hair. 

“That’s,” Zayn starts, but then Niall waves his hand over the mesh, clearing his throat.

“So what do I do?” He asks, his voice coming out weird, and Zayn takes a deep breath.

“Um,” he starts, grabbing the brush and handing it to Niall carefully, “you start with this drawing fluid, to do your design. How you want it to look.”

“Okay,” Niall looks doubtful, turning it over in his hands. 

“And then,” Zayn taps his finger on the filler, “once it’s dry, which won’t take long, we squeegee the filler on, so it’ll fill in all the blank space and leave the pattern.”

“Oh, calling it filler is making so much more sense now,” Niall feels more comfortable now, Zayn can tell, because he’s reaching for the drawing fluid, opening it carefully. 

“Words have meaning again,” Zayn deadpans, Niall laughing quietly, “and then once the filler dries, we put it on the shirt and print the ink we want to use on it, and then it’s done.”

“Wait,” Niall dips the brush in the fluid, looking over at Zayn and arching his eyebrow, “that’s seriously it?”

“I said it would be easy,” Zayn straightens the screen on the table, making sure it’s flush against the surface, “just you have to do all the steps.”

“Yeah, okay.” Niall holds the brush steady, looking down at the blank mesh. “I want to do a Banana Splits shirt, but I don’t want it to be dumb.”

“Well,” Zayn starts to say, and Niall grins over at him.

“Well, dumber than it already is,” Niall shakes his head, “I’m a really terrible fucking artist.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Zayn says, “but also, Harry won’t care.”

“Are you saying that you won’t just do it for me?” Niall sighs.

“That is exactly what I’m saying,” Zayn watches as Niall carefully starts writing it out with the brush, “just be careful not to use too much, you don’t want drips.”

“Kay,” when Niall is concentrating hard, he sticks his tongue out of the side of his mouth, the pink of it matching his lip. It’s pretty fucking distracting, and Zayn struggles to pay attention. “This actually looks pretty decent.”

“Yeah,” Zayn looks over Niall’s shoulder, Harry saying _loopy doopy_ echoing in his brain as he looks at the words. “I actually think your handwriting would be a good font.”

“No fucking way,” Niall doesn’t look up, but Zayn can hear the smile in his voice, as he dips the brush again, swooping it under the words to make a sort of, “oh, shit.”

“That,” Zayn starts, but can’t finish because he’s laughing too hard, so hard his stomach starts to hurt.

“It looks like a big old cock.” Niall sounds so disappointed.

“It’s a little cockish.” Zayn agrees, choking it out through his laughter. 

“Merry Christmas, Haz,” Niall holds out his hands like he’s giving Zayn a present, “here’s a shirt with a cock on it.”

“I think it’s salvageable,” Zayn takes the brush from Niall, “unless you want to keep it.”

“I really, really do not want to keep it,” Niall’s laughing now too, “and this way I win, you’re helping.”

“I’m excising the cock from it, that’s not helping, that’s pity,” Zayn does his best with the brush, adding in a few extra lines to add a little depth to it, adding in little stick legs and a smile, broad like how Harry’s is.

“How did you fucking do that?” Niall whispers next to him, looking over Zayn’s shoulder and letting his hand settle in the small of Zayn’s back, fingers pressing there lightly enough that Zayn can almost convince himself he’s imagining it.

“I’ve fixed enough of my own fuckups,” Zayn shrugs, setting the brush down carefully, “did you want to add more, or-”

“I’m not touching it again, are you kidding me?” Niall drops his hand, and Zayn hopes Niall doesn’t notice how his shoulders sag at the loss of contact. 

“So it just needs to dry, then we’re like, fifty percent there.” Zayn waves his hand over the mesh, bending so he can see up close how it’s already drying at the edges of Niall’s handwriting.

“What would I do without you?” Niall asks, and Zayn holds his breath before Niall continues, “you are single handedly saving my Christmas, Harry takes our gifts very seriously.”

“Shocker.” Zayn steps around Niall, reaching under the sink cupboard for the small fan Liam keeps there. “I think we can speed things up a bit if we use this fan for the drying stuff.”

“I mean, I’ve got time,” Niall pauses, “we could just go see what’s on TV? Netflix something?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, smiling up at Niall and dropping the fan back down, “yeah.”

**

“I can’t believe this shirt didn’t exist just like, four hours ago,” Niall holds it up again as he stands in front of the floor length mirror Zayn’s got tacked up to the back of his bedroom door, “it looks good, but good in a homemade way. It’s like something I’d pay money for.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Zayn says, digging in his closet for Niall’s gift. It’s late already, Niall already two hours past the time he said he was going to leave, Liam downstairs and waiting to give him a lift home since it’s way too cold for Niall to walk. “Sorry, I was going to wrap this, like an actual gift.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Niall says, and when Zayn turns he’s draped the shirt back over Zayn’s desk chair, perched on the edge of the bed and drumming his fingers against his knees. He’s sitting so straight, it makes Zayn’s own back hurt to look at it.

“I know,” Zayn feels suddenly shy, wishes he could go back to those couple of months before he realized how he felt about Niall, when he was fully comfortable and not second guessing himself. 

“Do I need to like, close my eyes or something?” Niall pushes at his glasses, and Zayn holds the thick frame behind his back, watching him.

“Um, sure,” Zayn tries to think about how to preface this gift, wishes he had just settled on a like, Guitar Center gift card, “so this is just a dumb thing, it’s not a big deal.”

“I love when people apologize for gifts before they give ‘em,” Niall’s got his eyes screwed shut tight, holding out his hands already, “just gimme.”

“Okay.” Zayn places the frame carefully in Niall’s outstretched palms, “you can open your eyes, I guess.”

“If you insist,” Niall’s laugh dies in the back of his throat when he opens his eyes and sees what Zayn gave him, “is this,” he starts, then holds it up closer to his face, like he really needs his glasses.

“I just redid it in a bigger scale, I just,” Zayn looks down at the drawing, “you keep saying how much you liked it?”

“It’s the one,” Niall breathes, blinking quickly like he’s got something in his eye, “from that first show, when-” He stops like he can’t continue, and Zayn allows himself the luxury of sitting down on the bed next to Niall, not touching but close enough.

“Since I didn’t do it for the album stuff,” Zayn shrugs, “and I don’t like ripping pages out of my moleskine, sorry if that’s dumb, but. And I know it’s not happening, but I put the Patrick’s Snakes logo in there so you’d like, have it. I looked up some Celtic stuff to try and get the font right.”

“This is,” Niall swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down, the muscles in his neck standing out to Zayn, “like the antithesis of dumb.”

“You _have_ been reading some of my poems,” Zayn bumps his shoulder against Niall’s, and Niall leans into it, anchoring Zayn there. “Sorry.”

“Nah, I deserved it,” Niall takes a deep breath, it shuddering in the silence of Zayn’s room. “This is seriously. I don’t.”

“You don’t….” Zayn feels uneasy, “...like it?”

“I don’t really,” Niall turns his head, catching Zayn’s gaze, “have the words right now to say how _much_ I like it. You’ll have to give me some time.”

“Okay,” Zayn agrees, rubbing his palms over his thighs, wondering when his hands got so fucking sweaty and disgusting. 

“And fuck,” Niall’s muttering now, standing up, “I really do need to go, so. Can I just give you something and you won’t like, look at it for a few days?”

“What?” Zayn feels dazed, “I wasn’t expecting anything, I really wasn’t.”

“You are such a dumbass,” Niall says, fondness creeping into his voice, setting Zayn on edge, “why do you think I wanted to see you today? I mean, not just because I’ll miss you over break, um. Because I will? But. I have a gift.”

“I will too,” the words stumble out of Zayn’s mouth, “miss you, that is. Not like, me. I’ll be with myself.”

“I got it,” Niall starts laughing, tucking the frame under his one arm and reaching into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a bright blue flash drive, “this is basically the opposite of what you gave me, because it is actually a super dumb thing.”

“What is it?” Zayn holds out his hand, Niall dropping it there, Zayn curling his fingers around it. It’s warm from being in Niall’s pocket all day. 

“It’s…please look at it when you’re alone,” Niall’s the brightest red that Zayn’s ever seen him, “and don’t tell Louis, or anyone. And if your family is home, please make sure your sisters aren’t within earshot, or anyone with ears.”

“You’re really good at hype.” Zayn whispers, holding it tight in his fist. 

“I mean, it seemed like a really great idea, and Haz agreed, which I should have known was a sign, but now it’s too late and I didn’t do anything else, so.” Niall exhales, his fingers tugging on his hair so hard that Zayn wants to reach up and wrap his fingers around his wrist until he stops.

“Well.” Zayn gathers his thoughts, “I promise, I’ll wait until I’m alone. And all the other stuff.”

“Okay,” Niall smiles then. “Okay. So.” He shuffles his feet, “I’ll go get Liam to uh, give me a lift.”

“I’m gonna come with,” Zayn stands up, Niall shaking his head.

“No, it’s okay, I mean, let’s just.” Niall steps closer, “say goodbye here, kay?” He’s wrapping his free arm around Zayn then, his chin hooking over Zayn’s shoulder. 

“Okay,” Zayn stands still, the only part of himself that he lets move is his hand, fingers dragging down Niall’s shoulder.

“Merry Christmas,” Niall whispers, into Zayn’s neck, and Zayn just nods, hoping that Niall can feel the movement.

**

They’re only a half hour out from home when Louis finally brings it up, Zayn bracing himself in the passenger side for the past couple of hours, Louis letting the mix that Zayn made fill up the silence between them.

“So,” Louis reaches over, turning down the volume, “you’ve been a fucking stranger lately.”

“I,” Zayn knows that he can’t bullshit Louis, “I’m sorry?”

“Huh,” Louis snorts, “you’re sorry. You’re glued to me for months on end, when I can even force you to do anything, and then you go MIA?”

“I’m not MIA,” Zayn shrugs, “I mean, you wanted me to get out more.”

“You’re not telling me something,” Louis accuses, his voice sharp and cutting to Zayn’s core. He’s tried to tell Louis, in text and on the phone and in the handful of times they’ve hung out since the party, but Zayn also knows that Louis will like, force him to do something. That maybe Zayn isn’t ready for.

“Well,” Zayn pauses, wishing that Louis would just say it outright, hey, I figured this out, you fucking idiot, this is what you should do, and if you don’t you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.

“I’m not dragging it out of you,” Louis’s voice is about as gentle as Zayn’s ever heard it, “so don’t wait for that on my account, okay Zayner?”

Louis using his old nickname for Zayn, a holdover from when they were young and Louis would come over when he was sad about his parent’s divorce, makes Zayn feel like a giant piece of shit.

“Niall.” Zayn starts, and waits for Louis to interject, but he just keeps his eyes on the road, driving steadily, so Zayn takes a deep breath and continues, “I don’t know, I think I like him?”

“Huh,” Louis says, and Zayn knows he’s stalling, “you like him, or you _like_ like him?” He grins over at Zayn.

“Fuck off,” Zayn groans, “this is sort of a big thing, Lou.”

“It is a big fucking thing,” Lou sniffs, “and I had to force you to tell me while we were in a car and there’s no possible escape.”

“You fucking knew, didn’t you,” Zayn sighs, reaching forward and turning the music off completely.

“I fucking _suspected_ , which is very different, when you’re giving me nothing to work on other than the fact I know you better than I know my own fucking self.” Louis sounds sort of hurt, and Zayn swallows, letting him continue, “El kept saying, ‘oh Lou, he’ll tell you when he’s ready, he’s not hiding it because he’s afraid of what you’ll say’ just over and over again, and then I’d see you for five fucking minutes over some bullshit lunch, and you’d tell me all about the latest escapade with those two fuckers, especially Niall, and never say anything important. Like you were afraid to tell me shit. Fuck, I know more about it from Harry than you.”

“That’s not,” Zayn protests, weakly, wishing he could explain it, surprised that Louis assumed that it was about. Well. Him. 

“I don’t give a fucking fuck if Niall’s a dude or whatever, because this is the happiest I’ve seen you in like, ever, maybe, with someone who isn’t me.” Louis’s frowning when Zayn sneaks a glance over at him, gripping the steering wheel tightly with both hands instead of loosely balancing his wrist on the top like he normally does. “Not even gonna tell me if you’re dating someone, like, _the fuck_ , Zayn?”

“I’m not dating him,” Zayn says quietly, hearing how pathetic his voice sounds to his own ears.

“Fuck, whatever the fuck it is, then,” Louis laughs, “even if you love him, I don’t care, just tell me about it.”

“Nothing’s happened,” Zayn feels the frustration creeping up the back of his neck, “like, literally nothing, Lou.”

“That is not,” Louis frowns, “but Harry said.”

“What did Harry say?” Zayn hates how hopeful he sounds.

“He said,” Louis swears quietly, “I need to keep my fucking mouth shut. Let’s just say that I doubt you’re the only one who’s like, feeling themselves over it.”

“I don’t know how to like,” Zayn doesn’t mention the flash drive, burning a hole in the pocket of his jeans, he didn’t trust not having it on him and just in his bag. “Make it happen.”

“That is not something you’ve had any issue with before,” Louis snorts, “at all.”

“Niall doesn’t do relationships, I don’t think.” Zayn speaks slowly, trying to work out his own thoughts, “and I don’t know...I just don’t know.”

“You are quite the pair,” Louis says, dry, and Zayn really wonders what Harry told him. “I think maybe you should try just saying, ‘hey Niall, I think you’re swell, can I suck your cock?’”

“Jesus Christ, Lou.” Zayn feels his face grow hot, just at the thought of it. He’s only afforded himself a few quick jerks in the shower over it, not wanting to make it way too obvious to Niall when they hang out. 

“Like you don’t want to,” Louis laughs, loud, “eh? Gagging for it, literally.”

“Fuck you,” Zayn says, knowing there’s no venom in his voice.

“Love you too,” Louis reaches over, flipping the music back on, sounding like Zayn just told him he got him infinite weed for Christmas, “just try it out, Zayn, you never know.”

“I guess I don’t,” Zayn looks out the window, counts how many days until he’s back, feeling like he’s not sure if he feels more like he’s coming home or leaving. 

**

Home turns out to be way too much for Zayn as usual, constant family parties and constant food (he loves that part) and Safaa attaching herself to his legs and insisting on sleeping on his floor because she missed him, which is super fucking cute, but.

It’s Christmas Day already, after dinner, and Zayn sidles up alongside his Mom in the kitchen, everyone else passed out in front of the A Christmas Story marathon on tv, figures this is his chance.

“Mom,” Zayn says, “I’ve got some reading I want to get ahead of for next semester, I’m gonna go chill in my room for a bit, yeah?”

“Keep Safaa away for a while?” His Mom always gets it. 

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” 

“On it,” she calls out to the other room, “Safaa, want to make some cookies? I think we’re running low.”

“Cookies??!?!” Safaa’s voice comes filtering into the kitchen, Zayn mouthing _thanks_ at his Mom as he makes his exit before she barrels into the kitchen, taking the steps two at a time and closing his bedroom door behind him, exhaling loudly. 

He feels like an idiot, but he grabs his laptop and Safaa’s extra pillow from the floor, settling in before plugging in the flash drive from Niall and waiting for the driver to install so he can look at it. Clicking on it once it pops up, Zayn takes a deep breath when he sees there’s just one file titled “MerryChristmas4Zayn.mp4”, the little movie icon making Zayn’s heartbeat speed up as he clicks on it and waits for it to load. 

It’s Niall, sitting in front of what Zayn knows is his desk, his guitar balanced on his lap, hair a mess like he just woke up, wearing one of his too small tees. He’s clearly adjusting a few things, settling back in the chair and taking a deep breath.

“Hey Zayn,” he starts, waving and pushing his glasses up his nose, “so for Christmas I was thinking of all the possible things I could give you, since you’ve given me a lot the past few months...well,” he pauses, “me _and_ Harry, really, but uh, this gift is just from me, although he did help, and in case this turns out really fucking terribly, it was entirely his idea. Um,” Niall reaches for a pick next to his computer, strumming once and then taking a deep breath.

“You know how you sent me that list of poems and stories and stuff that you really liked, when I asked?” Zayn can feel himself nodding, like he’s actually having a conversation with Niall, like he’s really in the room, biting so hard at his lip that it hurts, wondering what’s possibly coming next.

“Well, for the sake of being honest, I only really got into one of them, and part of that is because I saw your copy of it open on your desk, like, and you had all of these notes written all over it, in your crazy serial killer handwriting,” he pauses, then, to laugh, like he’s remembering it all, and Zayn’s sure he’s actually drawing blood on his lip now, “so I thought maybe it would be cool to compose some music to it, to make it a song?”

Zayn pauses the video then, for a second, wondering how long it will fucking take him to watch this whole thing, and if he’ll die of cardiac arrest first. His hand shaking, he hits play again, resolving himself to watch all the way to the end.

“So here it is, the very rough cut of it, my musical interpretation of ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock’.” Niall does something on his computer, “sorry, I didn’t memorize it at all, so I have to read along,” he squints at the camera, at his screen, “aaaand so this starts with Italian, I’m not even going to try that.”

From off camera comes Harry’s voice, “I can do that part!”

“Haz, what the fuck,” Niall turns, toward what Zayn knows is his door, “I told you to close the door and not disturb me while I was doing this important fucking thing.”

“Yeah but,” Harry comes into view now, leaning down and waving, “Hiiiii, Zayn.”

“Do not say hi to Zayn,” Niall reaches for the computer, “I’m gonna have to start over now,” 

“No you will not,” Harry waves again, “this is authentic.”

“It’s embarrassing.” Niall shakes his head, pinching at the bridge of his nose with his glasses, and Zayn starts laughing, hoping no one can hear him in the house.

“It’s not, here,” Harry is leaning down, his face coming into full view, “I can do a quick like, operatic recitation of the Italian part, and then you do your bit.”

“It’s not a _bit_ ,” Niall pushes at Harry, “it’s a song, and you are fucking ruining it and I will never forgive you as long as we both live.”

“That hurts, Niall.” Haz frowns, looking at the camera. “He hurt me, Zayn.”

“Just please go, Haz,” Niall sounds pleading, and Zayn’s chest hurts, “please.”

“Fine.” Harry walks away, out of frame, his “sorry” barely heard before Niall is shaking his head, frowning at the camera.

“You know what?” he asks, smiling suddenly, “I’m not even going to edit this out, so you can see how much I had to suffer to get this done. Speaking of, like I said, I’m skipping this Italian part, and just. Okay. Here I go. I am going.” 

Strumming once again, Niall takes a deep breath and starts playing in earnest, this simple melody that Zayn feels deep, even before Niall starts singing, “let us go then, you and I, when the evening is spread out against the sky…” Zayn’s pretty sure it’s the best he’s ever heard his voice sound, and it meanders like the poem does, enough that Zayn is pretty sure Niall like, gets it, wonders if he read all of Zayn’s notations or if he just likes it. 

Zayn fights his instinct to pause it often, even at the point where Niall finishes singing “and in short, I was afraid,” his voice breaking on the words and he stops to clear his throat, muttering “jesus fucking christ, how long is this fucking poem,” Zayn sure that this is it, this is what a stroke feels like. 

When it’s done, when he’s finished, Niall doesn’t say anything else, just smiles before the screen goes blank. 

Zayn sits there with his laptop hot on his thighs, feeling like the room is spinning. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, dialing before he loses his nerve.

“Hey,” Niall’s voice comes over the line in greeting, and Zayn can hear the background noise, remembers that it’s Christmas Day a half beat too late. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call when you’re with your family,” Zayn starts, but Niall’s immediately speaking, 

“No no no no no,” he says, and Zayn can hear him tell someone, maybe his Mom, he’ll be right back, “I have a minute, I was uh, hoping I’d hear from you.”

“I just finished watching your gift,” Zayn presses the phone to his ear harder, like maybe he can hear Niall’s breathing, can pick up on how his face might look.

“Oh yeah?” Niall groans, “I’m really so sorry, I probably should have edited out the dumb shit with Haz, I don’t know why I didn’t.”

“I loved it,” Zayn says quickly, “I’m not talking about the Haz part, though I loved that too. But. The song. The thought of it. I think…”

“What do you think?” Niall’s whispering on the other end.

“I think it’s the best gift anyone’s ever given me?” Zayn huffs out a laugh, trying to temper it so he doesn’t say too much on the fucking phone, “it was nice, too, to see your face.”

“Ohhhh,” Niall just sounds like he’s exhaling now, creating static on the line.

“When do you get back?” Zayn asks, feeling bold, “I can’t remember.”

“Um, actually,” Niall coughs, “I’m going back earlier, before New Year’s? Haz and I are finally recording for real, so I convinced my parents they can do without me.”

“I was thinking about maybe catching the bus, if Lou doesn’t want to come back early, sometimes he does though.”

“I hope he does.”

“Me too.”

**

The way it works out, Zayn doesn’t get back until after Niall and Haz have been in town for almost a week, long enough for Niall to email Zayn a zip file of their recording with the subject line “Check it outtttt”. In a way, even though Zayn is going insane, not enough time to talk to Niall ever, it works out because he can get Louis back for refusing to drive back earlier (“with the twins, Mom would murder me, Zayn, so calm your dick down”) by playing Niall and Harry’s stuff nonstop the entire way back, Louis fine at first but starting to get really annoyed when Zayn starts singing along.

Zayn’s watched the video of Niall so many times it’s like he’s memorized the poem all over again.

He feels antsy the entire day he gets back, barely paying attention to Liam’s recounting of his time at Sophia’s family’s ugly sweater party, nodding at what he hopes are all the right places, because he’d texted Niall he was back hours ago and hadn’t gotten anything back yet. Until Liam’s showing him his new gloves and Zayn’s phone buzzes next to him, him grabbing it so fast that it almost slips out of his hands entirely.

 _meet me @ the coffeehouse @ 8?_ is all it says, and Zayn holds his breath.

 _k_ Zayn sends, because Niall took so long to respond, Liam asking him if he’s alright.

“Yeah, Li, I’m fine,” Zayn shakes his head, “but I missed some of that, can you start over?”

When he gets to The Coffeehouse it’s crowded, more crowded than usual, and it takes Zayn a second to see Niall over in their corning, waving. Zayn forces himself to walk slowly through the crowd, weaving his way over to Niall, trying to control the grin on his face from getting too big.

“Zayn!” Niall stands up immediately, pulling him into a hug that catches Zayn quick, spins him off his center. Niall’s face is warm where it’s pressed against his.

“Hey,” Zayn says, muffled into Niall’s neck.

“Missed your fucking face,” Niall says, in his ear, and when he pulls back his lips brush up against the column of Zayn’s throat. It’s fucking dumb, but it feels like a giant thing. 

“Yeah,” Zayn lets his smile go free then, not caring if anyone else sees, “I missed it too, you know, in person.”

“Oh?” Niall looks confused for a brief moment, realization dawning on his face, his eyes going wide. “Oh.”

“It’s a good gift,” Zayn shrugs, “had to watch it a few times to make sure.”

“Right.” Niall sits back down, hard, Zayn laughing at the look on his face. “I’m glad you liked it, but. Embarrassing.”

“I texted Harry that I thought his part was inspiring,” Zayn starts laughing when Niall groans, burying his face in his hands.

“Do not remind me, he thinks that he saved the goddamn day,” Niall peeks out from between his fingers, his voice coming out muffled, “so thanks for that.”

“Anytime,” Zayn grins, “but listen, about that.”

“Yeah?” Niall glances up toward the front door, where it looks like they’re setting up something. “Oh shit, it’s almost time, I gotta go.”

“Gotta go where?” Zayn asks, confused, but Niall’s already winking at him, taking off. Zayn eases off his coat, leaving his scarf on the table and making his way to the front. He orders a hot chocolate because it’s too late for coffee, asking the girl what’s going on tonight when she hands it to him.

“Oh, it’s open mic night,” she says, squirting extra whipped cream on top, “we do it once a month.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen the signs before,” Zayn mutters, “thanks.”

He goes and sits back down, sipping carefully so he doesn’t burn his mouth, and pulls out his phone, seeing the notification of a text, from Louis. _get it in yet???_

 _fuck off_ he replies, adding, _sitting at open mic night at CH_

 _ooo, romantic_ is Louis’s quick reply, followed by a string of emoticons that Zayn deletes immediately.

The lights dim, and when Zayn looks up Niall’s sitting up front, smiling in his direction when people start to quiet down.

“Some of you may have seen me here before,” he says, “it’s my side covers gig. I’m only playing one tonight, so I want to make it count, make it original. So,” Niall grins, laughing full into the mic, “anyway, here’s Wonderwall.”

The crowd laughs, and Zayn wonders if it’s some big joke he doesn’t get when Niall starts playing, and it is actually Wonderwall, but a lower, slowed down version. It’s not quite Ryan Adams, Niall adding in enough of himself to be different, and Zayn finds that he has to fight to keep his face in check, especially whenever Niall looks over at him as he sings. Niall keeps to his word, stopping after one despite the boos from the audience, thanking everyone and making his way over to Zayn, still carrying his guitar.

“Wonderwall, eh?” Zayn says, before Niall can ask him how he liked it, “that’s new.”

“Just don’t tell Haz,” Niall says, serious for a moment, “I just do this sometimes because it’s fun, and he’ll feel left out.”

“I would never,” Zayn shakes his head.

“So did I sound decent, though?” Niall asks then, and there’s something in his eyes that hits Zayn square in the chest, that Niall really does care about what he thinks.

“Better than decent, are you kidding me?” Zayn reaches out then, wrapping his hand around Niall’s forearm, warm in the sleeve of his sweater. The one he was wearing that first night, Zayn realizes, distantly, his eyes coming up to rest on the same little hole. It still looks cool. “You were amazing, I loved how you added in a lot of like, yourself.”

“Good,” Niall sounds pleased, pushes himself into Zayn’s grip. “I’m gonna go put this away,” he holds up his guitar, “and get a drink. And here,” he pulls away from Zayn, reaching into his pocket and producing a small flask, “while you wait.” He splashes a good amount into Zayn’s mug, the alcohol cutting through the whipped cream still on top. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Zayn echoes, watching the curve of Niall’s back as he walks away, feeling like he’s allowed to, now.

**

“Nothing’s going on,” Niall whines, “and my guitar is getting heavy, jesus.”

“I really thought there would have been something happening,” Zayn stops on the sidewalk, watching his breath pool out in front of him. “Oh fuck, Niall.”

“What?” Niall asks, his eyes wide.

“It’s a Tuesday night,” Zayn groans, “and most people aren’t back yet.” They’d polished off the flask between them back at The Coffeehouse, getting enough of a buzz that they’d both wanted to do _something_ find something, not to go home yet, the thought of it scary to Zayn at least, being alone with Niall, knowing that he just wants something, but is not sure how to get it. 

“Ah fuck,” Niall switches his guitar to his other hand, biting at his lip and looking away before meeting Zayn’s eyes, “why don’t we just go back to yours? We’ve wandered a little too far, so we’re closer to there.”

“Um,” Zayn nods, trying to remember what Liam was doing tonight, “yeah yeah, let’s do that.”

“Great,” Niall starts walking again, taking the lead this time, Zayn trying to hurry. “Fuck, it’s so cold, why did we think this was a good idea?”

“I think this can all trace back to your surplus of whiskey,” Zayn’s hand brushes against Niall’s as they walk, against the hand that Niall’s using to carry his guitar, and Zayn wishes he wasn’t wearing gloves right now, which is a really fucking stupid thing to wish since he loves his fingers.

“It seemed like a great idea at the time,” Niall laughs, “and anyway, I think it’s helping to keep us warm.” 

“It’s giving us the illusion of warmth, that is very different,” Zayn turns and sees his apartment complex up ahead, groans when he sees that Liam’s car is there, parked in its spot. “Fuck, Liam’s home.”

“He’s probably in bed by now though,” Niall says, “he’s never up this late.”

“Maybe,” Zayn says doubtfully, smiling despite himself that Niall knows things like his roommate’s sleep schedule. “C’mon, there’s only one way to find out.”

“Hey guys,” is what Liam says from the couch when they walk in, him and Sophia tangled together as they watch a movie. And as he says it, he gives Zayn that _look_ , that annoying as shit one when he thinks he’s being smooth. “You gonna go hang out upstairs? Quietly?”

“How did you know, Liam,” Zayn wishes that Liam wasn’t a Townie who felt like living on campus, wishes that he lived in Bumfuck Nowhere and wasn’t back yet from break. “That’s exactly what we’re gonna do, c’mon Niall.”

“I’mma leave my guitar here, Liam, don’t get any ideas,” Niall says, laughing as he trips up the stairs behind Zayn, whispering loudly as soon as Zayn closes the door behind them, “Liam’s kind of a cock, you know that?”

“I’m aware,” Zayn unbuttons his coat, suddenly feeling warm, and Niall does the same, dropping it on the back of Zayn’s chair. He doesn’t say anything about how there are clothes everywhere, even though he’s only ever seen Zayn’s room in its usual neat state. Zayn wonders if Niall guesses that it’s because Zayn couldn’t fucking decide what to wear tonight, finally settling on a plaid button down and henley he’s pretty sure he’s worn a million times before in front of Niall.

“Can’t fucking see a thing, with how these fog up,” Niall says, sitting on Zayn’s bed and pulling off his glasses, folding them carefully and setting them on Zayn’s nightstand. “Oh wait, were you watching this earlier?” He picks up the copy of Stepbrothers that Zayn had tried to watch while he waited for a reply from Niall’s text, not paying attention to a fucking thing.

“Uh,” Zayn nods to the small TV he keeps on his dresser, facing the bed, “I had put it in earlier, but I didn’t really watch it.”

“Good,” Niall grins, “so we can now.”

“I guess,” Zayn turns to the TV, turning it and his DVD player on, waiting for it to start up so he can press play directly from there, because he lost the remote forever ago and keeps forgetting to really look for it until it’s 2 AM and he’s lying in bed wanting to watch something until he falls asleep, feeling too comfortable to move. “Okay.”

When he turns, Niall’s laid out on the bed against his pillows on the spot Zayn normally sleeps, propped up and smiling. 

“I won’t bite,” he says, and Zayn feels a little stab of disappointment in spite of himself.

“Right,” Zayn crawls on the bed awkwardly, fitting himself between Niall and the wall.

“For fuck’s sake,” Niall says, and when Zayn glances over he’s grinning, “how did I not notice before just how fucking small your TV is?”

“It’s not that bad.” Zayn watches Niall reach over and make a big show of grabbing his glasses, putting them on carefully.

“Much better,” Niall exhales, smiling wide.

“You don’t even need those,” Zayn slides over a little, his shoulder pressing against Niall’s now.

“No, I think I can see it better now,” Niall looks over, laughing, his eyes flickering down to Zayn’s mouth so quickly that Zayn thinks that he may have been just wishfully seeing things.

“You know,” Zayn feels the words pouring out of him before he can stop it, head still turned to look at Niall, “I wonder if it’s from you being home, or what, but-”

“What?” Niall breathes, so shallow that Zayn can barely hear it.

“All night, when you’ve been talking,” Zayn takes a deep breath, “there’s this like, lilt to your voice? It’s like an accent but not, I don’t know. I like it. It’s you but different, like I don’t know everything.”

“Um,” Niall rolls so he’s on his side, and his hand comes up between them to rest on Zayn’s hip, making Zayn suck in a breath so loudly he feels like he should be embarrassed. “You can’t say that, and have me not like, wanna kiss you immediately.”

“I’ve sort of wanted you to? For months?” Zayn reaches down, resting his hand lightly on top of Niall’s, pressing it into his hip.

“I didn’t want to,” Niall starts, his breath fanning out over Zayn’s face, he’s so close, “like, ruin stuff. But um, I wanted to kiss you since I saw you hiding and drawing on the floor? Before you even knew who I was? It’s weird.”

“Why is that weird,” Zayn wants Niall to kiss him, but he wants to hear him answer him more, “why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know, I’m used to like, getting drunk at a party and hooking up with someone, or meeting someone at a show and just. I wanted to kiss you, but I wanted to talk to you, too. You looked interesting. And I was right.”

“You can’t say that,” Zayn pushes forward, “and not expect me to-”

He closes the distance between them then, brushing his lips against Niall’s softly, pulling back and meeting Niall’s eyes. They’re open wide, behind the glasses, and whatever Zayn was about to say dies in his throat when Niall pulls at Zayn’s hip, kissing him harder this time, tangling their legs together as his tongue slides against Zayn’s lips before Zayn opens his mouth, letting Niall inside. 

Zayn’s hands are trembling when he reaches up to cup Niall’s cheek, thumb sliding down along his jawline, feeling it when Niall opens his mouth over his. Niall’s hand squeezes at Zayn’s hip once, before traveling up along Zayn’s side to his face, mirroring Zayn’s own movements. Niall’s tongue is moving along his as he kisses him deeper, the frames of his glasses bumping along Zayn’s cheeks.

“Sorry,” Zayn pants, against Niall’s lips, moving up to take off Niall’s glasses carefully, “these are really fucking annoying.”

“Aren’t you glad I don’t need them to see?” Niall laughs, kissing Zayn once, twice, down along the side of his face.

“Yeah, _now_ ,” Zayn slides his thigh in between Niall’s, surging closer when Niall’s tongue trails along his neck, Niall groaning at the sudden friction between them. Zayn’s half hard already, just from being so close to Niall, just from making out, just from the noises Niall’s making in his throat when Zayn pushes closer again, threading his fingers through Niall’s hair to kiss him.

They kiss for what feels like forever like that, just making out like Zayn hasn’t in years, his hips rocking slow against Niall’s own movements, electricity pooling at the base of his spine. There’s just enough between them that it’s keeping Zayn right on the edge, but not enough to really get him off. He pulls away for a second, catching his breath, and his eyes fall on the little hole in Niall’s sweater. 

“Fuck, why’d you stop,” Niall gasps, trying to shift closer, and his eyes flutter closed when Zayn pokes his finger in the hole, not meaning to make it bigger until he hears a slight rip, nail scratching against the skin of Niall’s collarbone. 

“That sweater,” Niall’s voice sounds so low, so rough, like he just finished playing a long set, “cost me two dollars, Zayn. I hope you are prepared to pay me back.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Zayn laughs, pulling his hand out and pushing at the hem of Niall’s sweater, “off.” Niall starts laughing, but sits up awkwardly, pulling at the back of his sweater until his head pops back out the other side, his hair pushed forward over his eyes.

“I love when you move your hair, like this,” Zayn pushes Niall’s bangs to the side like he’s seen Niall do a million times, and when he moves his hand out of the way Niall’s eyes are blown out, looking darker than Zayn’s ever seen. 

“Why are you wearing like eight shirts,” Niall mutters, kicking his legs free of Zayn’s as he sits up fully, tugging at the buttons of Zayn’s shirt. “I at least had the foresight to just wear one tonight, to make it easier.”

“Wait,” Zayn’s heart might expand out of his chest, and his jeans are painfully tight, “you like, planned for this?”

“Fuck yeah,” Niall’s hands push at Zayn’s henley, Zayn’s vision obscured for a second before Niall’s smiling face comes back into view, “do you know,” he laughs, “I should not be telling you this, but after you called me on Christmas I spilled some wine on myself so I could have an excuse to shower, you know. Like. _Shower_.”

“Wait, wait,” Zayn’s laughter dies in his throat when Niall’s fingers start working at the button of his jeans, feeling paralyzed when he pulls down the zipper slowly over Zayn’s erection, “you spilled wine on yourself just so you could go jerk off over me in the shower. On Christmas Day. At your parent’s house.”

“Well, it sounds less sexy when you say it like that,” Niall hooks his fingers into the sides of Zayn’s jeans, easing them down over his hips, “in my mind, it sounded like this really, like, romantic thing. I ruined a pair of pants for you.”

“Sounds like you were gonna ruin them anyway,” Zayn finally has enough presence of mind to scrape his nails down Niall’s stomach, trying to keep his hands steady when Niall laughs, his hand ghosting over Zayn’s cock through the thin fabric of his boxers, Zayn’s hips jerking up involuntarily. Niall laughs, but then his eyes cloud over, sending a shock through Zayn when he meets his gaze.

“Do you?” Niall bats at Zayn’s trembling hands, pushing down his own pants and boxers until his cock springs up between them, shifting forward and doing the same to Zayn so that they slide together, the slow drag of Niall against his own length. “Like, have you?”

“Um,” Zayn tips Niall’s head up so he can kiss him again, “a few times.”

“Fuck,” Niall groans, into Zayn’s mouth, “that’s awesome. Just, good to hear.” 

“Shut up,” Zayn says, and Niall nods against his lips, kissing him again, the roll of their hips somehow even more maddening without the clothes between them, Zayn clutching at Niall’s hip and kissing him with everything he has, trying not to think too hard about Niall touching himself in the shower, already feeling too far gone to last much longer. 

Niall reaches down between them, sliding his hand along Zayn once, slow, before he does something with his wrist, hooking his thumb to stroke them both in one hand, Zayn groaning loud.

“Move a little closer,” Niall whispers into Zayn’s mouth, “it’ll work better.”

Zayn does, shifting his hips forward and letting Niall roll him a bit so they slot together better, Niall kissing him again as he strokes them both in earnest, little gasps punctuating every movement of his hand, kissing Zayn in staccato bursts until he’s not kissing Zayn anymore, ducking his head down to bury his face in Zayn’s neck, tongue pushing against Zayn’s pulse. 

Zayn can feel it building, and moves his hand from where it’s clutching at Niall’s hip to reach between them, tangling his fingers with Niall’s, squeezing just enough like he knows he needs it, hips jerking still when he comes in steady pulses over their fingers, Niall biting into the delicate skin of Zayn’s neck when he does the same. 

“Jesus H fucking christ,” Niall’s chest is heaving against Zayn’s, “fuck.”

“Yeah.” Zayn dips his head down to find Niall’s mouth with his own so he can kiss him slow and lazy, Niall’s lips curving against his own until they’re both breathing slow, even.

“I don’t,” Niall groans, “want to move, but.” He reaches down to grope at the end of the bed, finally coming up with his sweater, using it to clean up the mess between them, Zayn making a face.

“I have towels, you know,” he squirms, the soft material brushing against his cock where he’s still spent and sensitive.

“You ruined it anyway,” Niall shrugs, dropping it on the floor and pulling up Zayn’s boxers carefully, then his own, before plastering himself against Zayn again, their cooling sweat making them both shiver. “Two dollars, Zayn.”

“I might be able to raise that amount,” Zayn traces the curve of Niall’s shoulder blade with the tip of his finger. 

“You better,” Niall mumbles, into Zayn’s chest, and Zayn grins in the darkness, closing his eyes.

**

Zayn’s reading the back of Liam’s cereal box, waiting for the toast to pop, when Niall comes downstairs in the morning, wearing one of Zayn’s shirts and his boxers, and Zayn’s heart leaps out of his chest with such force that he wouldn’t be surprised if he looked down and it was literally on the floor.

“Hey,” Niall grunts, “please say that toast is for me, and please say you have cinnamon and sugar.”

“How did I know you’d need sugar,” Zayn smiles, “it’s on the table.”

“Great, I just,” Niall looks up at him then, confused, “uh, since when do you wear glasses?”

“Since always?” Zayn tries to think, “I don’t always need them and sometimes I just wear contacts, so I think this is the first time you’ve seen them?”

“Uh yeah, I’d remember that,” Niall reaches up, snags them off of Zayn’s face before he can stop them, slipping them on. “Oh fuck, you like, actually need these.”

“No shit,” Zayn takes them back, putting them on and reaching for a plate, Niall’s toast popping up. He gathers the butter and sets it all on the table, Niall beaming up at him.

“Jesus Christ, Zayn, you’re blind.” He spreads the butter thick on his toast before following it up with half of the bowl of sugar and one shake of cinnamon, cramming it in his mouth and talking with his mouth full, “Do I make you feel bad, when I wear mine all the time even though I don’t need ‘em?”

“Yeah, I feel really marginalized and oppressed,” Zayn takes a swig of orange juice, “like you’re fetishizing my legitimate eyesight problems.”

“Fetish, eh?” Niall leans back, raising his eyebrows, “so I’ll keep wearing them, then?”

“Please,” Zayn watches Niall as he laughs to himself while he eats, something churning in Zayn’s stomach, even though he knows he shouldn’t feel anything other than happy. He doesn’t want Niall to think that he like, expects anything, even though deep down Zayn knows that he expects a lot of things, and all of them involve a lot of hanging out with Niall constantly and repeating the events of last night in more and more graphic detail. But.

Zayn can do casual. Even if Niall said all those things, now that he’s actually kissed Zayn, how does Zayn know it’s gonna last? He knows that he’s entering one of his overthink spirals, as Louis refers to them, but he feels himself slipping under and he can’t stop, not as he watches this person who makes him feel more unraveled and complete than anyone else ever has eat their weight in cinnamon sugar toast.

“You know,” Niall interrupts Zayn’s thoughts, “I think you should wear those all the time. I like it. In a like, fetish way.”

“Shit,” Zayn chokes on his juice, “you gotta warn me before you say that stuff.”

“Ah,” Niall smiles, “but where is the fun in that?”

“Fair,” Zayn shakes his head, coughing into the crook of his elbow.

“I gotta go, though.” Niall pushes at the empty plate in front of him, “I promised Haz we’d do breakfast, and I’m already late.”

“You just ate,” Zayn stares at Niall as he leans back, rubbing at his stomach.

“That was a pre-breakfast,” Niall shrugs, standing up, “I didn’t even have any eggs. Can I just wear this shirt? Mine’s a bit stiff and a bit holey and 100% gross.”

“Um, yeah, of course.” 

“Thanks, Zayn,” Niall ruffles Zayn’s hair when he walks out of the kitchen, “be right back.”

Zayn can hear Niall shuffling around in his room overhead, and he feels frozen. Just. He should play it cool. So cool that he doesn’t move until Niall is breezing back into the kitchen, his coat already on.

“Okay,” he says, “I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

“Later, sure,” Zayn fights to keep his voice even and normal.

“Cool.” Niall leans down then, hooking his finger under Zayn’s chin, tilting it up, “hey, c’mon.” He kisses Zayn then, lingering there for a second, enough that Zayn wishes he was staying.

“Bye,” Zayn says, once Niall’s left. He feels like an idiot, pulling out his phone and texting Niall before he can regret it, _????_ It’s only a second before Niall replies.

_do ya have a question?_

Zayn struggles, typing and retyping a million things, _what are we_ , then _I like you so much_ , and then multiple variations on that before his phone starts vibrating in his hand. Niall.

“Hey,” Zayn answers, “did you forget something?”

“Nah, I just didn’t want to watch you type for another ten minutes without sending anything,” is the reply, and Zayn feels his face grow hot.

“Oh shit,” he whispers.

“I realize this isn’t really a phone conversation,” Niall says, “but I have a couple minutes before my bus comes and I was too chickenshit to do it in person.”

“What do you want to say,” Zayn hopes it’s not a hey, it’s been swell, but.

“I know that you know I’ve never really, you know, been a boyfriend guy.” Niall starts, and when Zayn doesn’t do anything but breathe he must feel like he can just continue, “So I’m not sure how this exactly goes, like, the staying part? But I want to?”

“You do,” Zayn exhales. 

“Yeah, you hotass idiot,” Niall laughs, “I’ve been a mess over you for months, you think I’m gonna let you go now?”

“I didn’t know,” Zayn says, honestly, feeling braver for some reason on the phone. 

“Well,” Niall pauses, his breathing loud on the line, “now you do.”

“Now I do.” Zayn repeats.

“Okay, the bus is coming and there are eggs in my future, so can I tell you more about how much I like you later?” Niall says, a hopeful edge to his voice.

“I’ll be waiting,” Zayn hangs up, before Niall can be the first one to do it. He dials Louis immediately. 

**

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Niall tugs at Zayn’s hair hard when he comes, Zayn pulling off at the last second to work him through it, still not quite having the hang of the whole swallowing thing, even though Niall’s told him a bunch of times how it’s so much easier and ruins less articles of clothing. Even though Zayn thinks it’s the hottest fucking thing when Niall does it to him. Like now, when Niall’s pushing at Zayn’s shoulders with a smile, reaching for his jeans with his tongue licking at his lips.

“I’m _in the apartment_ ,” Harry yells then, Niall dropping his forehead down on Zayn’s stomach.

“No one cares, Haz!” He calls out, looking up at Zayn and rolling his eyes. “He has the loudest sex ever, so he can fucking deal with it.”

“I care,” Harry’s voice is muffled just on the other side of the door now, “because I need to have a talk with Zayn.”

“Zayn is busy right now,” Niall frowns when he squeezes at Zayn’s dick through his jeans, “what the fuck,” he whispers, looking up at Zayn, “really?”

“Harry is literally yelling through the door right now about how he wants to talk to me, so yeah, “ Zayn laughs, covering his face and feeling it burn hot under his hands, “really.”

“Can Zayn maybe take a break?” Harry asks, sounding hopeful. “I promise this will take like no time, and then I will leave and go hang out with Nick or Kendall for a few hours. That’s fair, right Niall?”

“He’s going to stand outside until you talk to him,” Niall mumbles, rolling over so he’s on his back. “But as soon as you’re done, I’m gonna make you come so hard you’ll forget everything he said.”

“Um,” Zayn gets up, adjusting his jeans, as he opens the door, slipping out and meeting a grinning Harry, who has his hair wrapped up in a brightly colored scarf and is wearing his Christmas gift from Niall, leaning against the wall, “Harry, this better be such a short conversation.”

“Niall should be fine, if I heard correctly you already took care of him, so he can take a quick like, power nap.” Harry gestures toward his room across the hall, “Here, we can talk real quick.”

“Okay,” Zayn sits on Harry’s nightmare clothes covered bed, “why do you own a Hawaiian shirt?”

“That is not the topic of conversation right now,” Harry takes it out of Zayn’s hands, frowning, “but it looks so cool, I got it for a dollar at the goodwill.”

“Not two dollars?” Zayn laughs to himself, and Harry cocks his head to the side, looking confused before continuing.

“So I know you are aware, Zayn,” he starts, pacing back and forth in front of him with his hands folded behind his back, “that Niall is very important to me.”

“Uh yeah,” Zayn wonders where this is all going.

“And you are important to Niall,” Harry stops, grinning, “and me too, I really do love you, Zayn.”

“Okay?”

“Not like in, the same way,” Harry looks thoughtful, “this isn’t a weird threesome proposition.”

“This is good to hear.” Zayn starts counting in his head, wondering just how long a “short time” means to Harry.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that, I’ve never really had to warn a person to take care of my best friend,” Harry’s voice is soft, “so I don’t really know what to say, other than don’t hurt him?”

“I don’t plan on it,” Zayn stands then, squeezing at Harry’s shoulder. “I really don’t, Harry.”

“You know what, you can call me Haz, if you want?” Harry looks shy for a second, his green eyes growing wide, “if that’s not a weird thing to say.”

“No,” Zayn feels like he’s choking on everything he’s feeling. “I’d like it, Haz.”

“Great!” Haz pulls Zayn in for a hug, whispering in Zayn’s ear, “I’ve punched someone before for him though, so just remember that.”

Zayn starts laughing, hugging Haz tight to him.

**

Niall is asleep when Zayn walks back in his room, snoring lightly. He grunts when Zayn lies down on top of him, nudging his face against his neck.

“I’m sorry, I’m too tired now.” Niall mumbles when Zayn rocks his hips down.

“Haz left,” Zayn whispers, running his lips along the shell of Niall’s ear, “so maybe you should get less tired.”

“Haz?” Niall rolls over so he’s half under Zayn, looking up with a confused look on his face.

Zayn shrugs, “he told me to call him that, now.”

“Oh yeah?” Niall’s smiling now, fingers reaching under Zayn’s shirt to scratch at his stomach, Zayn holding his breath. 

“Yeah, I’m fully in the circle now.”

“C’mere,” Niall growls, “I’m awake. Haz is gone. Let the world rejoice.”

**

“How did you convince El to man the merch table?” Louis pouts, standing next to Zayn as they watch Niall and Harry set up, Zayn toeing the edge of the plywood and surveying the crowd, larger than normal. Ever since Harry convinced Nick to start playing their songs on the campus radio station there’s been a steady uptick in crowds, a steady uptick in gigs, though Zayn still likes it at Moonlight best, likes that he gets to sit behind them while they play, Harry sometimes making him join in on some of the choruses.

“I asked her, I think you’ll find that does wonders.” Zayn elbows Louis’s side.

“I ask her to do stuff all the time, fat lot of good it does me.” 

“I asked her nicely, and it wasn’t some weird sex thing.” Zayn snorts, “like I know you do.”

“I’m never fucking telling you anything ever again,” Louis groans, “and it was one time, and one fucking thing, and I didn’t really want to do it _anyway_.” 

“Sure,” Zayn claps his hand on Louis’s shoulder, “just keep telling yourself that.”

“I think I liked you better before you were happy and getting laid on the reg,” Louis ducks out from under Zayn’s hand, shaking his head, “fucking happy fucker. I’m gonna go see if El needs help.”

Zayn grins, watching Louis weave his way through the crowd, looking over at meeting Niall’s eyes when Niall turns, sticking his tongue out. 

“What’s Louis’s problem?” He asks, leaning over and talking low, the lights already dimming and the crowd whooping behind them.

“He hates that I’m in such a good mood all the time,” Zayn shrugs, “but he’s shit out of luck there.”

“Too fucking bad for him,” Niall smiles, looking delighted before leaning forward for a quick kiss. “Gonna blow your mind.”

“Used to it,” Zayn grins back, returning Haz’s thumbs up as he leans over into the mic, speaking.

“Hiiiiiiii,” Haz starts, “we are Insert Name Here, formerly The Banana Splits, formerly Patrick’s Snakes, and also we’re not really Insert Name Here because it’s just a placeholder.”

“Haz,” Niall hisses, “what did I _tell you_?”

“We have some EPs for sale in the back, and they don’t have our name,” Haz continues, “but you don’t need one when the art is so baller.” He looks back at Zayn then, grinning, and Zayn settles back against the wall, tipping his head back and taking it all in.

“Anyway, not to downplay the baller art,” Niall interrupts, glancing back at Zayn and mouthing _love you_ , which makes Zayn stand up straight, the breath rushing out of him, “but we’re going to start now, with a new song. It’s called Prufrock.”

And Niall, he always knows how to catch Zayn off guard.


End file.
